Repo! Revived
by kinkybootbeast
Summary: By the time he awoke, he could only be sure of three things:  One; he was still alive.  Two; there was a woman attending him, and she wasn't Shilo.  Three; he didn't know who Shilo was. - Nathan wakes up after the opera in a strange house with amnesia.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: okay, hi everyone! sorry, just here to say a few things then we'll get to the story :P first of all, this is written a bit funnily with the POVs because it's basically a modified RP between myself and my friend danay (i don't know how to credit her because she doesn't have a account, but she's amazing, just trust me!) she did nathan's, luigi's and a few other characters that'll come in later, and i did resa, all the grilo, and amber :D it is just being done for fun so some things might be off, but i'm pretty proud of it so far, so i'm trying to edit it and get it all right :) i might go back and add more reactions or something, i dunno**

**anyway we just wanted to do a repo rp that focused on her favorite and my second favorite character, nathan, but we wanted all the other characters in it as well :P**

**please stick with it! it starts out kind of oddly/slowly because we were just trying to get it going (the first half or so is what we call the "soup-and-lies" stage, you'll see why) but it does get cooler, and it DOES have a pretty awesome plot, i promise!**

The first thing he felt was a sensation of falling, with his heart caught in his throat and as he tumbled head-over-heels into nothingness. The second thing he remembered was pain. It trapped him in a barren wasteland outside the realm of time. Physical pain was only part of it, although if he even existed in a physical sense anymore he wasn't sure. By the time he awoke, he could only be sure of three things:

One; he was still alive.

Two; there was a woman attending him, and she wasn't Shilo.

Three; he didn't know who 'Shilo' was.

The woman was pressing buttons on an IV machine that was next to his bed. A tube snaked from the machine into his arm, feeding him hydrated nutrients and protein. He watched her for a minute before he remembered how to speak.

"Am I in a hospital?" he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy from disuse.

Resa lifted her visor and grinned down excitedly at the man who was beginning to move. "Finally awake, I see! I hope you're feeling better."

Her heart was pounding; Nathan Wallace, the man she knew nothing about except his name and occupation, who'd been comatose though stable for weeks, was waking up. It was brilliant! She'd finally meet him! She felt like she knew him already, like he was her friend even though she'd only seen his face.

When Pavi Largo had strode down to her lab, telling her that the Genterns responsible for show cleanup would be bringing her some bodies later to see what organs she could salvage, she'd never imagined she'd find a pulse on one of them. Rotti Largo was far gone, and she was sorry for that because he'd always been kind to her, but the Repo Man's heart still beat. Faintly, weakly, but the pulse was there. It had been hard to bring him back and Resa had had to work diligently for hours before he stabilized. She'd stolen a slightly used lung and to replace his and had to use GeneCo equipment to grow some ruined tissue, but she'd done it. Afterwards she'd sat with him, watching his chest move up and down again and waiting for him to awaken. It'd been a while before she realized she couldn't just keep him there indefinitely.

Even though Mr. Largo was dead, the warrant for Nathan's life stood. Resa wasn't sure if his children, now in charge of the company, would even care if the Repo Man still lived, but she decided to be safe. Packing him in with some portable emergency life support, she carefully zipped a body bag around him and got some lower number Genterns to load him in a transport truck.

"Research," she'd explained to the driver. "He was in an advanced stage of a supposedly extinct disease. I need to take some samples."

As a SurGEN, she was allowed to take bodies back to her house under appropriate circumstances - but she doubted a living and wanted Repo Man would be appropriate. She babbled away to the driver, and he sat there silently. _You've got to stop talking, he'll be suspicious,_ she kept telling herself. She was so nervous, she couldn't stop.

But it worked. GeneCo had assumed Nathan had been harvested and dumped, and Resa had a patient. And now he was awake. And she was ecstatic.

"Are you hungry?" she asked eagerly. "I have food here."

Nathan (for that was his name – it occurred to him as the sleepiness started to wear off) tried to sit up and he was struck with a sudden feeling of urgency, as if he had to be somewhere.

"No, thanks ... I-" He settled for propping himself up on one elbow, "I think something bad happened. What I mean is ... I think I got shot. But I can't remember." An image flashed before his eyes of a man pointing a pistol at him, but it disintegrated almost instantly. He turned to look at the woman beside his bed, who was now watching him with concern in her warm eyes. He decided she was attractive, in a self-conscious, weird kind of way. Nathan was about to ask her why he was here when he noticed a dull throbbing in his leg. He pulled back the covers to see a gnarled scar slashed in his skin across the back of his knee. He gasped. "What is this from?" he asked her, alarmed. "Why am I here? Was I in an accident?" The pain increased as the drowsiness he was feeling wore off completely and panic set in. "Please tell me, I can't remember anything!"

"Oh, God..." Resa whispered, rushing to comfort him at the bedside. Shock, she'd expected, relapse, maybe, but never had she even considered amnesia. She'd have to tell him everything ... but not at once. He was in a delicate state at the moment and any kind of stress could send him into a relapse. She'd have to choose what she said carefully. Everything had been in the papers, but maybe if she told him a different name, when he finally saw them he wouldn't make the connection. Besides, weeks had passed. The only part of the event still being talked about was Rotti's death. If she kept quiet and kept him there ... he should be all right.

"Your name is Nathan Williams," she said, and mentally slapped herself. It was too close to Wallace. But it was the first name she'd thought of. "You seem to be suffering acute amnesia, which isn't surprising considering what you've been through. You used to be a GeneCo employee, but you were ... deployed."

"Shot, you mean," he said, wildly. She chuckled, even though it wasn't extremely appropriate.

"Yeah. Shot. You caught a slice in the back of the leg as well, but it wasn't deep enough to hit any major tendons, thankfully, and it's healing well." Resa cleared her throat. "My name is Resa Donnell. I'm a SurGEN at GeneCo, and you're in my house. My lab, specifically." She forced him back on the pillows again, and increased his diluted Zydrate solution drip. Just enough to hold back the pain, not enough to make him lose his head. "What _do_ you remember, Nathan?"

A thrill went through her at the realization that she was actually talking to her comatose patient. His voice was deliciously gravelly and thick and dark.

"Not much." He lay back and shut his eyes for a moment, concentrating. "I remember GeneCo. I remember working..." an image of his hands ripping out human organs made him hesitate, "...with precision. And there was a girl," he said with conviction. The image brought a surprising rush of feeling to Nathan: grief and compassion chief amongst them.

At the mention of his daughter, Resa gained a flicker of hope before feeling it flit away.

Nathan looked suspiciously at Resa. "Why did you bring me back here? What have you to gain by saving a 'deployed' GeneCo employee?"

She bit her lip and looked away, then smiled at him. "I don't know. But aren't you glad I did?"

The look he gave her suggested he was looking for a more in-depth answer. She sighed.

"If I told you the real answer, you'd hate me," she said, only slightly joking. "And I don't think you know me well enough to hate me yet."

Nathan studied her carefully. "Are you one of those SurGENs that takes their work home with them? Am I about to become a science fair project?"

She grinned. "I'm a little old for the science fair scene. Hanging around little kids isn't a good way to become an established SurGEN." Nathan chuckled at this and looked slightly pained. Resa tried to be more serious again so he wouldn't hurt himself. "But yes, I do take my work home with me, and yes, you are a new project."

Honestly, as a SurGEN, she'd always viewed the GeneCo repo men a bit romantically. She'd paid off her debts so she had nothing to worry about, and even though she wasn't allowed to resign from GeneCo she loved her job and wouldn't even leave if she'd been able.

She shook her head to clear it and smiled her bright beam again, showing the gap in her front teeth. "Really, though, you must be starving. Let me make you something. What do you like?"

"Well," Nathan relaxed, feeling less alarmed than he was a minute ago. It could have been because of the upped dosage of Zydrate in his veins, but right now he didn't care. "Maybe some soup would be nice," he suggested.

"Perfect," grinned Resa. It was almost the only thing she knew how to make well.

When she left he looked around at his surroundings, taking in the peeling floral wallpaper on the walls, the pale peach carpet, and lace drapes. Not something he would pick out himself, but he didn't intend to stay here long anyway. He closed his eyes and lay still, concentrating all his willpower on recalling something, anything, to help him put the pieces together. His mind was impossibly clouded, and it seemed like the more he strained, the less he could recall. He was so involved in this mental tug-of-war that he jumped when Resa spoke up from the doorway.

"Don't struggle to remember," she called after watching the man make faces for a minute. "You'll only make it worse. It'll come back naturally, and it will come back. I promise."

She was back ten minutes later with a bowl of her mother's favorite borscht and two cups of strong tea. She set it on the table beside Nathan, as he'd fallen asleep.

"Odd," she chuckled to his sleeping form. "You'd think after three weeks of nothing but sleep you'd be bouncing off the walls."

Resa checked his vital signs, all normal, before sitting in the armchair beside the bed and picking up her cup. She sipped lightly at the hot liquid, watching the man's eyes twitch beneath his lids. Funny, she thought, how much older than her he was, and he was still better-looking. Resa was approaching her thirty-fourth birthday, and it was approaching fast. She'd never given much thought to age, but since her sister had died two years before of aggressive cancer she was counting the days.

She pushed back her dark hair and leaned over her patient to straighten the bedclothes. Floral. Everything was floral here. Her mother, the decorator, had loved flowers, and it showed. But she'd never been a happy woman. That showed, too. The cheeriest thing about the room was a darkened, dried bouquet of orchids and lotuses on the wall, too high for Resa to reach. She suddenly felt very sorry for Nathan, sorrier than before, at least, having to wake up for the first time in such a dreary, horrible room. The next time she went out, she vowed, Resa would pick flowers for it, real flowers. Bright flowers.

A moan behind her. She turned to see Nathan staring at her. "Oh, here's your soup," she said cheerily, trying to be happy for his sake. "It's beet, I hope you don't mind. They're rare, now, but my sister kept a little greenhouse." Suddenly she was worried. Not everyone liked beets. "I have other kinds too, though, I can make some up if you don't like it..."

"No, no this is fine. I love beets." Nathan lied, hoping to reassure her. She looked relieved. With Resa's help, he was able to sit up, although she wouldn't stop fussing with his pillows for a good few minutes. At the first taste he expected to have to pretend to like the soup, but it was surprisingly delicious. After just a few sips he felt warmth and energy returning to him, and he was able to properly assess his situation. He turned to Resa.

"I'm terribly sorry to impose on you like this. I hope I won't have to bother you too long; in fact I'm feeling better already. How much longer must I stay in bed?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Resa told him condescendingly. "I wouldn't have taken you here mostly dead if I didn't expect you to stay for a while! Drain my hospitality as much as you like." She grinned reassuringly at him again. "And I'm not sure about the bed thing yet. It'll be a few days, certainly; you _did_ just come out of a coma, for Chrissake. Anyway, it's a nice bed, isn't it? Soft and everything."

Nathan still looked uncomfortable. Resa sighed.

"Look, I'm a _doctor_. I'm used to this kind of thing. Okay, well, not fugitives, exactly, but the whole patient-hanging-around-'til-they're-better thing. You're not my first project."

"Wait - fugitive?" Nathan caught her.

"Well, not exactly fugitive, more like a ... well, no, yeah, a fugitive. But they think you're dead. So that's good."

Nathan stared at her. "What did I do?" the man asked through a mouthful of soup.

She paused. Should she tell him he was a Repo Man? Would it be too much? Or did he already know? From what she could tell he was having flashes, bits of his memory back.

"They said you went rogue," she said safely. Actually, she didn't know exactly why he'd been declared rogue. He didn't seem dangerous in the least. "I heard from someone you refused to work on a client." She hesitated, wondering if she was saying too much. She was only repeating what Pavi Largo had happened to tell her. "It was Blind Mag. You remember her, don't you? A real shame, what happened."

Nathan paused. Blind Mag? It did sound familiar... "Her eyes," he blurted, "I remember her eyes. They were mechanical." He couldn't remember much after that though.

They talked for another hour before Resa told him she had to go to work. Nathan took that opportunity to try to think and assess his situation. He was in a house he didn't know, with a woman he didn't know, and he had no idea how he got there. He could remember bits and pieces of his past, gory pieces, so he didn't doubt when Resa told him he was a GeneCo employee. But there was so much _missing._

He fell into a frustrated sleep, and his dreams were filled with troubling images of surgeries and blood. In one particular dream, he found himself ripping out a man's organs while his victim shrieked in terror. Afterwards, he used the man's emptied body as a puppet. Nathan had forced his entire arm in through a gaping hole in the corpse's stomach and began to ventriloquize the head as the lifeless eyes rolled in their sockets. He took those out a minute later. Then as he was packaging up the organs, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He slowly turned and came face to face with the corpse. Shadows deepened the empty eye sockets as blood trickled down the fleshy face. It turned its greasy head and grinned nightmarishly at him.

Nathan shot up in bed, his heart thudding violently in his chest. Sweat coated his face, and the sheets were mangled from his thrashing. He had accidentally ripped out the tube in his arm, and it lay limp and leaking on the floor.

"Damn it..." He took several deep breaths, wiping the sweat from his brow and looking around. "You're a middle-aged man," he said aloud, "You're too old to be scared of a silly dream." He tried to talk some sense into himself, but he couldn't push the haunting image from his mind. Nathan's stomach rumbled. He glanced at the clock, calculating that Resa still wouldn't be home for a good few hours. He couldn't risk going back to sleep with the nightmares still fresh in his memory, so he decided, against his better judgment, to do some exploring.


	2. Chapter 2

He lounged on the couch, booted feet thrown up on the arm and arm behind his head, hair matted and interspersed with colorful braids and bits of anything he wanted to put in it, really. A paper was open on his lap, one that was weeks old. The headlines screamed at him. 'Disaster at the Opera,' 'Rotti declared dead,' 'Mystery girl vanishes,' etcetera. He hadn't read many articles about that night, hearing about it instead from the 'mystery girl' herself.

Shilo happened to walk in at that moment, strapping her communicator to her wrist out of habit. When she saw the man lying across her couch, she paused, shook her head lightly, and kept walking.

"I thought you left?" she said, not looking at him.

"Why would I? You have a very comfortable couch," Graverobber stretched even further across it. "Besides, where would I go, back to the alleys? The garbage trucks? The abandoned theatres?"

"Yes," replied Shilo, slightly irritably, slightly bored. They'd had this same conversation a million times over, each one ending with her giving the Zydrate dealer food and a spare room for the night.

"Oh, kid, you like me too much to send me back to that." His smile was slightly snakelike, but it looked kind anyway. Shilo was used to his harsh mannerisms, even if he softened up around her. The slightly alarming thief, who looked like he just rolled around in glue and scraps every so often, had turned out to be the one living person she trusted more than anyone. After her father had ... it was still hard to think about ... died, she'd gone home and just stayed there, wandering around aimlessly and eating enough to stay alive. She felt herself getting stronger without the medicine every day, even though she still sometimes had panic attacks.

A week into keeping herself alive, a knock had come at the door. It was a shock - everyone she'd known was dead. But there he was, Graverobber, looking concerned and chivalrous and ready to take care of her. Not in the way her dad had, as a ward ... as a friend.

And then he just didn't leave.

"Are you ever going to go?" asked Shilo, making him move his legs so she could sit down as well.

"I thought about it today," he said brightly.

"Oh? That's a development. And...?"

"I decided not to. I like it here."

She smiled to herself. Shilo pretended that he was a burden, that he just sat around and ate her food and watched her TV, but she was so glad he was there. That anyone was there. Someone to talk to, to distract her. At first she'd wondered if it was weird, for someone so much older to be her only friend, but in truth he looked a lot older than he was. Besides, her birthday had passed in the confusion of the opera's aftermath. The mansion was hers.

"Actually, I do have a raid to go on today," he grinned over at her again, looking mischievous. "New dump of bodies. Interested?"

"Do you have to ask?" Shilo smiled, even if her stomach gave a little squeamish twist. She'd been joining Graverobber on his Zydrate runs lately, and it was beginning to bother her less and less. The excitement and rush of trying not to be caught made her forget everything, thinking only about leaving the mass grave alive.

"Great, we can go now," he grinned, and yanked her to her feet.

xxx

"God damn it, what now?" Luigi shouted as he shot a guard in the face. Half of his unlucky victim's head flew off in chunks of skull and brain matter as he collapsed in a bloody, spasming heap.

The man who had knocked on Luigi's door walked in, wringing his hands tightly. He was sweating profusely. "Mr. Largo, Miss Sweet is here to see you."

"Son of a-" Luigi yanked off the Artificial Reality System helmet he was wearing to stare at the other man incredulously. "You interrupt my video game to tell me that?"

"She says she needs to see you, sir." The man looked as if he was wishing desperately that he was somewhere else.

"Not good enough!" Luigi shrieked, pulling out a pistol from his desk and shooting the man in the throat. He stood there for a second with a gaping wound blown clean through his esophagus, before he collapsed.

"Hardly as cool as the video game…" Luigi said to himself as he walked over the man sputtering his last breath on the carpet. "People ought to learn how to die with more style." He grinned.

His sister walked in, new hairstyle sweeping about her face and expression vacant as usual. She looked slightly irritated, but that might have just been her normal face lately. Running GeneCo was a lot different than she'd expected, and she spent most of her time trying to get around the restrictions that their father had set for his death.

She surveyed the body on the carpet without surprise. Luigi greeted her. "What have you come to bother me about this time?"

"Dear, if I didn't know you so well I would've guessed you have anger management problems." Amber made a motion with her hand as two women wearing even less clothing entered, dragging the partially bloody corpse out of the room so its organs could be salvaged.

"Anger management? Why would I ever need to _manage_ the one emotion that makes me great?" He reloaded the pistol and put it back in his desk. No matter how much he wanted to shoot his sister sometimes, she was the CEO of GeneCo, and if she died his own job would be voided. Rotti had set it up that way before he keeled over. The old coot wanted nothing more than to mess with them, so their ownership of their late father's company was filled with tricky legal clauses. Luigi couldn't change one thing without lawyers breathing down his neck.

He glanced at Amber, who had whipped out a mirror and was admiring her new nose. It had to be at least her eighth this year. He was about to ask her where Pavi was - usually whenever she had a new surgery the circus clown would be nearby, festering with jealous admiration (not that anyone could see much of his expression under the skin mask) but then he remembered that Pavi had taken it upon himself to put together a new Genetic Opera. Right now his brother was probably comparing the benefits of hand-spun silk to synthetic feathers and giggling with mad delight.

"Did you just come to brag about the new body farms?" Luigi slipped the ARS helmet back on top of his heavily gelled hair and started up the game again. The demands for new organs were at such historic highs that GeneCo couldn't just grow individual organs anymore. The body farms had been his idea - Luigi was brilliant, of course - but Amber was the one to work out the details, arrange the construction, and get the credit. "I thought someone as busy as you would have found other things to do by now." He said sarcastically as he shot a civilian in the leg. The jaywalker wasn't on his hit list; he was just in the way. Luigi finished him off by leaning over and slitting his throat.

"I just wanted to know if your men have worked a way around the allowance yet," Amber said coolly. "And the farms are doing fantastically, by the way."

Luigi stabbed another man. "Isn't that wonderful? Isn't that freaking fantastic?" Someone stole his car and he shot at it until it exploded. "No, the allowance is airtight so far, unfortunately. They're trying, though."

"Oh, God, I hope so," sighed Amber. Her relationship with her brothers, even if they didn't agree, had much improved upon their father's death, once the feud was finally over. She'd won, and they were being far less sore losers than she'd expected. "Anyway, I have a meeting. I just wanted to check in."

"You have," Luigi muttered irritably as she shut the door behind her.

xxx

"So do you have any new faces I can try out today?" Pavi asked brightly as he poked his head into Resa's office. She was used to the rubbery skin stretched over his face by now, even if she didn't exactly condone it, and he was definitely the most likeable of the spoiled Largo kids. Resa suspected that he only hung around her while she was working because she wasn't a bimbo like the Genterns that usually flocked around him. That, and it must be boring being a rich kid, she usually scoffed. But she liked Pavi. He hadn't tried anything on her - probably because her bushy dark hair, thick-rimmed glasses, frumpy clothes and gaptooth brought her sex appeal down to zero, but she wasn't complaining - and her status as their father's preferred surgeon had moved her up in noticeability with the family. She was usually the one snobby Amber Sweet called on for a new face or new breasts out of boredom, and she'd been the only one Rotti trusted when he needed a new kidney years before. She'd tried her hardest to stay out the way of frighteningly-tempered Luigi.

"Not unless this one doesn't make it," she smiled up at him briefly through the antibacterial scarf wrapped around her face before returning to her delicate work.

"Then I have no hope, you're too good for that." He moved around to look at the patient. "Such a shame, too, her eyes are so big."

"Hands off," Resa warned, making sure to make the joking tone in her voice obvious. One false word to the Largos and they'd have her head. Nathan's too, she thought. She didn't think Pavi was like that, though. He didn't just kill for the hell of it, especially not the opposite sex. And he was getting much better about the face-stealing. She shivered at the thought of being in a room with his temperamental brother, however.

The liver in the woman was rather swollen and red, she noted suddenly, and considered exchanging it while she was open. But that would break the first rule of being a SurGEN; if the option of a second surgery, and therefore further debt, was at all justifiable, you took it. It was a rule she broke a lot, and not wanting to be the one to cause the eventual repossession from her patients, she often didn't even mention the second organ. As long as the patient didn't know where it came from, they'd live a longer, happy life. Probably.

However, she couldn't blatantly do this in front of Pavi Largo, no matter how relatively gentle he was, so she regretfully stitched up the brunette and peeled off her gloves. Pavi watched the rest of the process, as he sometimes did. Resa wouldn't kid herself for a moment that one of the people ruling the planet even remembered who she was at the end of the day, but she did see Pavi more than even Amber.

"What does this one do?" the man asked, picking up a complicated-looking tool.

"I wouldn't touch it," Resa said slowly, trying not to be immature about it.

"Why, what is it?"

"It's, uh ... used mostly in vaginal reconstruction," she answered finally, a flush rising in her cheeks. She busied herself with lowering the Zydrate dose flowing into the woman. Pavi put the device down, but he still grinned wickedly.

"Then why wouldn't I want to touch it?"

Resa laughed.

For the first few days after taking Nathan Wallace back to her lab, she's been terrified to come back to work. The whole time her hands shook, and she had to drug herself up a bit to steady her hands for operations. When Amber had come in questioning about the bodies from the opera, Resa had barely been able to stammer that Rotti's was entombed shortly after death, and that after organ harvesting Mr. Wallace's hadn't been salvageable. He was dumped.

"Fine," was all Amber had replied. "Be here tomorrow at nine, I want new eyes."

Resa swore her heart had been about to tear itself out of her chest. If they even caught a breath that she was harboring the Repo Man then her ass was toast. That was the last that was mentioned about Repo though, and she'd been able to relax again.

xxx

The house was just as Nathan expected- the unflattering peach carpet ran through the hallways, and paint was peeling on the walls, but someone had put up pictures over the worst areas in an attempt to make it a more comfortable home. Although the house wasn't really that bad, it occurred to Nathan that he was used to smoothly carved staircases, hardwood floors, and magnificent fireplaces. He was learning more about himself by the hour, and he hoped that he would soon recover all of his evasive memories. By the time he got to the kitchen, he was feeling light-headed, and decided to sit for a few minutes before making his way over to the fridge. It was stocked with fresh, home-grown vegetables, and even a bit of fruit. Nathan decided to make himself a sandwich. He hoped he wasn't intruding too much, but Resa had seemed so nice that he had the courage to go ahead and eat more of her food. He was completely famished, after all.

He rummaged around and pulled out some packaged meat and two slices of bread, and found a knife on the counter. He picked it up and suddenly had an odd feeling of deja-vu wash over him. He held the instrument up and watched the light play off its sharp edges. "I remember every time I hold you, my blunt companion." Nathan growled to himself, feeling something push at the darkest edges of his consciousness. The knife felt cool and familiar in his hand, and he gripped it menacingly and tore open the wrapping on the sandwich meat substitute- but wait, it wasn't lunch meat. He had made a mistake. It was a slab of uncooked hamburger.

Suddenly Nathan felt the pressure in the back of his mind engulf him in waves, as he felt as if he were watching through his own eyes as someone else took over his body. The meat was still raw and bloody, and Nathan dove in, hacking it to bits with skillful slices. Blood spattered the counter top. As he worked, he heard someone singing but didn't recognize the voice. It took him a full minute to realize it was coming from him.

And then suddenly it was if he was waking from a dream, and he looked down to see the meat in a butchered mess before him. He stared at the hand that was gripping the knife so hard that its knuckles had turned white.

_What the hell did I just do? _he thought, before dropping the weapon. It clattered to the floor and made him jump. It was only by sheer luck that he happened to glance at the clock at that moment. He cursed. Resa would be home any time! He hurriedly scooped up the mess with his bare hands, dumped it in the garbage, and wiped down the counter. Nathan wasn't hungry anymore anyway. He remembered at the last minute to wash his hands off, not bothering to clean the chunks of meat under his nails before racing upstairs. He had hardly slid into bed when he heard the door open downstairs. His heart was pounding.


	3. Chapter 3

The cool wind whipped at her jacket as Resa pulled into the driveway of the mediocre house and into the small, homemade garage, turning off the motorcycle and kicking the stand down. It was vintage, a 2021 model, and though it had been a decent price, she'd worked forever to fix it up. Swinging one leg off her baby, she pulled off her helmet and ripped the moist scarf from her mouth. Ever since she'd caught a moonfly under her visor a few months prior, she wore her scarf while riding. It made her look positively frightening, but at least Resa didn't have to deal with freaking out and ripping up the visor.

"Oh," she said in dismay as she caught sight of herself in the window. Bad helmet hair. She worked to fuzz it up again - bushy hair was better than half of her head being ridiculously flat - and went inside.

"Nathan!" she called, throwing her helmet and keys on a table and dropping her long leather coat to a chair. The jacket was horribly stifling and she only wore it while riding. "Are you here?"

What a stupid question. Of course he was here. He probably couldn't even walk yet, let alone know where her house was relative to the rest of Crucifixus.

She whipped down the stairs, white coat flailing behind her, and tripped into the lab, which was actually the converted spare room. The bed, formerly used as a bookshelf with towers of old text wobbling precariously on every inch, was built into the floor so she couldn't move it, but now its location near her equipment had come in handy. She'd just needed to move her thinking chair, clear everything of books and papers, and lay the mattress back down. Her friends had gone to the next spare room, also used for a massive maze with walls of books. The shelves in it had filled up quickly and the stacks almost touched the roof.

"You okay?" Nathan asked worriedly from the bed, sitting up.

"Yes, fine!" Resa straightened herself, beaming. She was excited to check over her patient. "Lie down! You'll ruin something!"

He was compliant, though looking nervous as she snapped on white gloves and moved to the monitors.

"Vital signs good," she murmured. "Everything stable, though heart rate's a little fast. Something exciting on telly?"

She loved conversation, especially since the only people with whom she spent time were unconscious for ninety percent of it. But she could tell Nathan was hiding something.

"What? Oh, uh, yeah. A car chase movie." Nathan felt his face heat up as he told the lie. He hoped Resa wouldn't notice him acting so suspicious, and to his luck she was too busy with the machine to look at him. He was sure if she had he would have spilled everything; in fact he was on the verge of doing so now, but he was too frightened and confused so he held back. Besides, what was he supposed to say? 'Hey, Resa, I just hacked your dinner to bits in a blind rage, I hope you don't mind.' Or how about: 'Hey, Resa, I think I might be an insane serial killer, so I hope that it doesn't bother you too much that I'm sleeping just down the hall from you.'

He shook his head. Nathan knew he couldn't say a thing, lest he wanted to get kicked out onto the streets. Maybe it was just a side effect of the medication he was on. _Yeah, right..._

He took several deep breaths until he was sure his voice sounded normal again. He watched Resa busy herself by opening a window. No, she was too sweet. He couldn't tell her what happened. He couldn't worry her like that. Then Nathan saw something that made his eyes widen. The needle-thin Zydrate tube that was supposed to be going in his arm was still on the floor. He had yanked it out by accident when he got up, and now it was in plain sight, dripping expensive painkiller onto the carpet. He panicked. If Resa noticed, she would know he had been out of bed.

"Uh ... Resa?" She was nearly finished with the window. "I am a bit hungry." He tried to sit up so her line of sight would be further from the floor. "Maybe, if you wouldn't mind..." He held his breath.

"Oh!" Resa said brightly, feeling bad for a moment. She should have asked Nathan if he wanted anything more before she left. Since she'd only had one surgery scheduled and she was on call, she hadn't thought she'd be gone very long. "Sorry, I should've thought ... I'll go make us some dinner."

She smiled and fixed a few more things on the monitors before moving to the door. "Ah, and by the way, you can turn _on_ the TV if you want," she smiled passive-aggressively, and left.

Nathan let out the breath he was holding. Now he could only hope that she didn't notice the missing beef in the refrigerator, although he knew that with the outrageous cost of meat it wasn't likely. What was he thinking? Even now the episode seemed fuzzy in his memory, as if he had only dreamed it. But the caked flesh under his nails told him differently.

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time for thinking; he had to get the tube back in his arm. It struck him as odd that during the entire ordeal he hadn't been in a level of pain above slight discomfort, but now it seemed like his body had awakened and began to throb angrily. Nathan was ten minutes late for his last dose, the one that was trickling onto the carpet. He would have to hurry.

He picked up the tube and examined his arm. There was a small dark spot in the curve of his elbow where he guessed it had been before, but his skin had sealed over already, thanks to the Zydrate that was still in his system after he pulled out the tube. The blue chemical didn't just help with pain, it also healed wounds with surprising speed. He would have to break the skin again.

He looked around, but there was nothing in plain sight that he could use. He got up, feeling a pang of agony in his leg, and hobbled over to the medical cabinet next to the machine near his bed. Rummaging through various medical supplies, he came across a compartment of needles. He grabbed one, slid the shelf closed, and collapsed back into bed. Nathan's body was now feeling the full effect of having no painkiller in his system, and his leg felt as if it was on fire while someone was cracking open his ribcage with bare hands. He gritted his teeth and bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming. Just as he began to see dark spots on the edge of his vision, he managed to break his skin with the needle and force the tube into the shallow blue vein running up his arm. He fell back against the bed, exhausted, but still gripping the needle in his hand. Nathan slipped it under the mattress with the last ounce of effort he had.

xxx

He'd looked agitated. She only wanted to prod a confession out of him, not upset him. Resa worried a bit as she made her way to the kitchen, and stopped at the smell. It was familiar, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Oh well. It didn't smell dangerous, anyway. Just foody. It _was_ a kitchen.

The fridge door was slightly ajar. "Damn." The bill would be high if she'd forgotten to close it. Since the world had started running out of energy fifty-some years before, the taxes were insane on power. New sources had been found, but the human race decided the same mistakes weren't going to be made twice. Every resource was expensive; most vegetables could only be grown in old soil because of new radiation in the ground. This made even meat rare because the food for the animals was so expensive. Any meat bought now was so processed and substituted and cut with other material that it was impossible to tell that it had ever been an animal at all. Resa wondered at the old world, how easy they had it. They'd had everything. And they'd blown it.

She got to work preparing more soup. This one would be freshly made though, and heartier. Nathan seemed strong enough to take it. She had some fantastic Italian bread as well.

But the meat was gone. She looked everywhere, but it was missing. It was a small package of beef that she'd traded some Zydrate for a week prior. You couldn't get actual beef, real pure beef, for any possible amount of money these days. Maybe she'd forgotten it at the market? That must be it. Her father had always told her she was so absentminded that she'd forget various limbs everywhere if they weren't attached. Resa knew he'd been right.

Oh well, no matter. She had some chicken substitute that she could use. Freeze-dried or artificial vegetables were also easy to obtain because when the radiation had started to spread, the government had filled warehouses with dried vegetables and other staples, grains, etc. Fresh anything was worth a fortune. Potatoes seemed almost the only vegetables to survive new soil, along with a few other hardy types like onions and radishes and carrots. This made soup easy.

"Dinner's up!" Resa sang an hour later as she ascended the stairs with a huge tray. When she didn't receive a reply, she slowed, listening hard. "Nathan?" Nothing. Quickly she pushed the plate onto the stairs and raced past it, hoping something hadn't gone wrong. She shouldn't have made something from scratch, shouldn't have taken so long! What if something happened? What if he'd taken a turn for the worse? He wasn't healed yet, wasn't stabilized, wasn't...

Awake. She slid into the room, racing the edge of his bed, to find him dozing. The heart monitor beeped innocently beside him, and she dropped her head on it. Why was she so worried? Resa slumped into the chair and dropped her chin in her hands.

Suddenly Nathan blinked awake as another dose of Zydrate was pumped into him. Resa smiled, gesturing to the food.

He was feeling better now from the Zydrate. Dreamy in fact, almost sleepy. But he had to get some answers, and he had a feeling Resa was not revealing everything she knew. "You said I was a GeneCo employee," Nathan spoke up, starting his soup, "So what was my job, exactly?" Maybe if she knew something about his past it could help him remember.

Resa bit her lip, not sure how much she should tell him, again. She hated being the bearer of bad news, the bad news in this case being, 'Oh, sorry to tell you, Nathan, but you were a cold-blooded murderer who ripped organs out of his victims and didn't even give it a thought or second glance, and you didn't even kill them for personal reasons, it was for some white shirts that you barely knew! Shit, sorry. Don't break too much of my stuff in your murderous rage, okay?'

Yeah, she wasn't sure how to break it to him.

Surely he knew about Repo Men, because he knew GeneCo and he knew she was a SurGEN. He knew what the company did.

Suddenly Resa had the overwhelming urge to just tell him everything she knew, give him a few plates to smash, and get it over with. But she restrained.

"Sorry, I barely know anything. I'm just a SurGEN. I don't have much authority." She smiled meekly at the look of disappointment on his face. "I can try to find out though!" she said quickly to cheer him up, and suddenly wanted to dunk her head in a vat of acid. How could she be so stupid? Slowly she added, "I kind of know the Largos. Just kind of. I can probably only look for basic stuff..."

The look on his face was too hopeful. Damn it. Why'd she promised that? It was only prolonging the inevitable. She sighed.

"What do you want to know?"

Nathan quickly recovered from his disappointment when Resa promised to find some answers for him, but he could tell that she wasn't being honest. When she was talking to him she fidgeted with her glasses and her hair, and wouldn't look at him for more than a few seconds. When she asked him what he wanted to know, he paused. Everything. He wanted to know if there were people out there missing him, mourning his "death". He wanted to know where he came from. He wanted to know what that dark and familiar emotion was that seemed to swallow him whole down in her kitchen.

Instead he just said, "Do you think people can change? I mean, people who've done bad things, or do you think their past is so entwined with their DNA that no matter what they do they will always share a part of what they used to be?"

Resa did a second take. She'd been expecting a 'Do I have a family?' or 'Are we still in Crucifixus?' or some other simple question. She wasn't a philosopher. In fact, she wasn't a great thinker at all. But the man in front of her looked helpless and vulnerable and she knew she had to say _something_ to make him feel better.

"Of course," she smiled, putting a hand over his. "Of course people can change." She looked into his stony blue eyes and tried to imagine him a young man. She couldn't. He wasn't old at all, but there was some knowledge behind his smile that seared with age. "In your case, I think if you find out who you are and don't like it, you can be who you want to instead. This whole thing is kind of a fresh start, don't you think? A lousy, painful one, but a fresh start all the same."

She pulled her hand away and started fussing with his pillows again to distract herself. "If I was bad, do you think I could change?" she asked suddenly, slowly. "I mean, I haven't had amnesia or anything... do you think it's possible?"

"But you're not bad," Nathan said, puzzled. "You're sweet, you're kind. You've taken me in, a complete stranger, and risked everything to help me. You know that if GeneCo found out about this they would take away your job ... at the very least," he said seriously. It was true- if GeneCo had "deployed" him for being an unsatisfactory employee, there was no telling what they would do to her. Nathan felt a sudden protectiveness towards Resa, along with a familiar pang of loneliness.

He had felt this way before about someone, but he wasn't sure who. Perhaps it had been towards this Shilo that had come to his mind when he first awoke. He made a mental note to ask Resa if he had any family, but another question came to mind first.

"Why would you think you've been bad?" He wondered, watching the young woman who had finished fussing with his pillows and was now straightening his blankets. She wasn't frail or dainty, but she had a kind of uncertainty about her that made her seem smaller. Her unusual clothing ensured that she was not to be overlooked, however. Today she even had a few multi-colored feathers in her hair that spun in the breeze she made as she worked. Nathan still didn't really know what to make of Resa; but she was certainly unusual. He liked that.

"I never said I have been!" she snapped, then immediately retracted. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to go off."

God. Now he'd think she was crazy. Which she supposed she was, but she didn't want anyone to know it.

"I just ... you've just met me. How do you know I haven't been a horrible person my whole life and I'm only helping you in a shallow attempt to repent before my time's up?"

Nathan stared at her. It was obvious he'd hit a nerve. "Hey," he soothed, "I didn't mean to offend you. And you're right, I don't know that you haven't been a horrible person your whole life, but I can tell you this: the way you look after me and the way you treat me tells me that you are nothing short of amazing." He said this honestly. Resa dropped her gaze and looked like she was about to cry. Nathan could tell in that moment that she hadn't heard kind words like his in a long time. "Sit back down," he said, "and tell me everything."

Resa took a deep breath. "Jesus," she muttered. She'd never expected to get in this situation. Everyone who knew anything about her was dead or gone. She hadn't had to talk about herself to anyone ... well, ever.

"I don't want to get you down," she smiled, pulling on her cheery guise again. The glance Nathan threw her was baleful enough to make her drop into the chair, however.

"Seriously," she pleaded. "It's sounds a lot more pathetic than it is. I'm fine."

"And I'm listening."

She groaned. "You're insatiable!"

"Thanks."

After one more you-don't-know-what-you're-getting-into stare, she rested her chin in her hand and chewed a piece of her hair.

"I don't know where to begin!" she laughed in dry disbelief. She tried to keep the explanation as brief as possible, not wanting to get into anything. "Well, two years ago my sister died of cancer. I was treating her, and it went wrong. I blamed myself, of course, went on a rampage, and ... I dunno..." She frowned as the feelings rushed back, fleeting as she looked into Nathan's concerned face. Resa let out a small chuckle again, trying not to let the situation get too dark. She hated it when people were careful around her because they were afraid of her mood. "My ... my mum died shortly after that. I've been living here alone since then, but it's not all bad. GeneCo found me and gave me a job, and I've been pretty comfortable. No one to bother me anymore."

Nathan's look was pitying. She hated it. With a heave she tried to lighten the mood again with a change of subject. "I keep myself busy though," Resa smiled, sounding fakely chipper, even to her own ears. "I work in my lab, I paint, I read. I've found the cure to _four_ different diseases, y'know! I'm very proud of that."

"Well," Nathan said slowly, "At least you're keeping busy." Resa smiled at him, but it was a fake smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Anyway, what's important in your life is not what happened in the past, but what you do with the future. I had tragedy in my life too, you know." Nathan said, suddenly knowing it to be true. "And I don't know how my old self dealt with it, but I know now there's no use in wallowing in the past." He turned to Resa, and put his hand over hers. She stopped chewing on her hair and looked at him. "Whatever you think you did wrong, it doesn't matter to me. God knows I've probably done some things too..." A small shiver went down his spine when he remembered how the knife seemed to fit into his hand like it was made for it. "So don't worry." He reassured her.

They talked about many things after that, including Resa's work, her hobbies, and if she knew if Nathan had any family. She wasn't sure about the last topic, but again promised to find out for him. Then she cleaned up their lunch and brought Nathan some old books she had that he requested. He didn't like the noisy, obnoxious movies or the commercials that screamed at him that he must, without a doubt, have the latest prototype of ion-balanced brain stem. Books were much more to his preference. And so this was their pattern for the next few days- Resa would go to work, Nathan would explore the house (he usually just looked out the windows or sat in her study- he never went near the kitchen again and he didn't trust his new lung enough to try it outdoors yet) and then the SurGEN would come home to find Nathan in bed and she make them food as they talked. Nathan was healing fast, and every day he could stay out of bed longer and longer without needing his zydrate. Everything he'd known changed, however, when he found Resa's computer.


	4. Chapter 4

Resa leaned back on the hind legs of her chair, breathing out in a whoosh. Her latest thesis, which she'd been working on for ages, was definitely not going to revolutionize the medical business as she'd hoped in the beginning. Absentmindedly she pulled up a folder on the hard drive labeled 'bea'. She did this a lot; it was full of pictures and videos of her and her sister, their father, some past loves that she'd cut off, and some writing. It was mostly college stuff, just some essays and such. A few items were digital versions of the articles surrounding her mother and sister's deaths and her hiring into GeneCo. There were only a few that had been stemmed at the source by GeneCo's muscles because of two reasons. One; they didn't make her out to be a good person, per se, and two; what were a few more murders in this godforsaken city? Resa kept them anyway, rereading them, wondering how she could have changed it. When she was feeling uninspired she flipped through the memories, and sometimes it helped. Usually it just made her want chemically manufactured ice cream, though.

She flipped through a few photos of her sister, gorgeous as ever, even with her occasional baldness. Usually she wore a wig, because the first treatment Resa tried, a chemical radiation from the 2020s, rid her of the hair she usually kept short. She hadn't been angry, of course. She was too sweet for that.

"Oh, Bea," Resa sighed, watching the teenager playing with a box of kittens she'd found by the side of the road. Though they were only half-sisters, Beatrice hadn't known it and Resa hadn't loved her any less for it. When their father had died and Resa's mother took them in, Bea was told it was their aunt. It wasn't as if she was around much to be asked questions, anyway.

She got to some pictures of her mother and Bea in fancy dress, and even under mum's heavy makeup Resa could see the blue bags under her eyes, the sallow skin. The constant hunger.

"Resa?"

She jumped and pushed the laptop's screen down a bit.

"Yeah?"

"It's almost nine, you're going to be late."

Right. Work. She'd been distracted.

"Thanks," she called as she jumped up, throwing her office door closed behind her. She usually kept it locked, but she didn't have time this morning. "I left some pot pie and cocoa in the kitchen, help yourself," she smiled at him, throwing on her leather trenchoat and racing for her bike. "See you later!"

xxx

The streets were considerably dirty that evening. Graverobber grimaced at the layer of grime that settled on him after only a few hours of peddling, and his Zydrate belt was nearly empty.

"You ready to go home, kitten?" he asked Shilo, leaning back on his dumpster throne. Shilo shook her head and took up the seat next to him.

"I like it here," she said, bright eyes looking up at him. He chuckled, giving her a little shove on the shoulder.

"You do not. You only like it better than home."

She shrugged. "After seventeen years of sneaking around, I want to squeeze all I can out of this city."

He nodded. He understood. Graverobber had never felt comfortable in one place for very long, and preferred doorways to beds, clouded sky to ceilings, chaos and dirt to cleanliness. He wasn't sure why. He certainly wasn't born on the streets; he just sort of gravitated towards them. The only reason he'd stayed with Shilo so often was for her sake. And ... he didn't mind her house so much.

All right, so he found himself sneaking back to the graveyard almost every night to do some more Zydrate running, but it didn't mean he hated being at her house. It was more the settled, homey feeling any house gave him that made him want to risk his life in a chase with some of GeneCo's muscles and weapons.

"There isn't much to squeeze out of these slums," he told her, jumping down from the seat and offering her an arm. "C'mon, we'll grab a bite and then I'll take you home."

"Should I expect you to be there when I wake up?" she asked in forced irritation. He chuckled. He knew she pretended he was the one pushing his way into her life, but she never put up much of a fight in the first place. Besides, she'd never buy groceries if it wasn't for him.

"Only if you want me to be."

"Of course not."

"Code for 'When don't I?'"

Lightly, she punched his shoulder as he led her to a fairly reliable cafe-type deal. The food was at least 45% edible there. After he made sure she was full, which was a considerable amount of Z later, they caught a garbage truck back to the corner of Kinsley and Lenin. Her huge house loomed over them and she leaped from the truck.

"Aren't you coming?" she called in disappointment when he didn't join her.

"I'll be back later, don't worry," he smiled, giving her a little two-finger salute. "I'm going to do another Z run quickly."

"All right," she said uncertainly, and he could barely hear her. "Bye!"

"Adieu, milady!"

Her little smile as she opened her front door failed to miss him, and he grinned too. "Cheeky little princess," he muttered fondly to himself. He decided to go back to his favorite alley briefly to pawn off a vial or two more before heading for the graveyard again. He could never stay away long.

xxx

The fire in the bin crackled over hushed voices. Six people huddled around it, their bright eyes reflecting the flames. The figures that circled the bin all wore gothic and steam-punk-style clothing, with fish-net fabric and leather present on almost every one of them. "So I've got this new plan," One of them was saying, taking a long chug from a bottle of whiskey. The others around him groaned almost simultaneously. "Not another one, Rat." A teenager who had about three different neon shades in her wild hair spoke up, "Remember what happened before?"

"Chill, Trish." The young man responded, "I'm careful, the only reason the last plan went wrong is because someone bailed." He glared at a girl across from him who dropped her gaze.

"Hey, ease up. Zaire's just getting the hang of things. Give her a little more time and she'll be the best little thief you ever saw." Trish saw Zaire shoot her a grateful look from the corner of her eye. "Besides, she's smart, maybe that'll come in handy one day."

"Oh yeah, she'll be able to distract the fuzz by quoting frickin' Shakespeare." Rat said sarcastically. A few others laughed.

Zaire blushed, but it was hidden under her dark complexion. She was torn between speaking up and giving Rat a piece of her mind or waiting for the opportune moment to put a bug in his drink, when they heard footsteps approaching on the gravel behind them.

xxx

Graverobber spotted a dustbin fire down his alley and smirked. It was the closest thing for years he'd had to friends sitting around that fire. And he hated half of them. Stinking pilferers and bandits.

He began to stroll up to them, wondering if they had anything good to offer tonight. He had several bottles of vodka and rum in hand that he'd swiped from an unattended bar on the way, and decided to butter them up.

"Drinks are on me, gentlemen," he smiled charmingly (more on the creepy side than charming, though), throwing the bottles in the center of the circle. "And ladies, of course."

"Graverobber!" one of the thieves grinned, taking a bottle. Trish. They'd had a little thing for a while. Nothing had come of it, but she was beautiful. "You sure know how to make an entrance."

"Thanks, man!" one shouted, reaching for the whiskey. Graverobber inclined his head and dropped between Trish and Rat.

"So," he started, stretching out his booted legs. "What have you scrounged up tonight?"

Then he caught sight of a new face. Dark-skinned, thin, too clean to have been out long. "A recruit? You've found another one?" he said in wonderment, smirk playing on his features.

"Hands off, Graves," Trish warned, moving closer to her ward. He lifted his hands in mock innocence.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" he said, sounding affronted. "What's your name, tiger?"

Zaire watched the man warily. He had too much confidence for his own good.

"I'm Zaire." She said, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. "And I'm not a recruit... I'm just staying here for awhile."

"She's got big plans," Rat told Graverobber. "And she thinks she's better than us."

"I do not! I just don't want to be here forever, that's all. I'll steal to eat but one day I'll find a real job." Zaire said, hoping she didn't sound too boastful.

"You can't get a real job," Rat's best friend, a young man with dreadlocks and a chain around his neck, said bluntly. "They only hire people who have all their limbs. I still don't see why you aren't saving up to get some real flesh."

"Shut up, Drench." Trish scolded, but it was too late. Zaire's face crumpled.

"Now see what you did?" Rat said, smirking. "You got the little thing to cry."

"I'm not crying!" Zaire shouted, kicking the fire bin. A metallic sound clanged through the alleyway when her prosthetic leg made contact with the metal container. She saw Graverobber's black-lined eyes widen. "Oh, you didn't notice at first, did you?" she said, her sudden burst of anger giving her courage to address the stranger. "Well, surprise!"

Graverobber looked over to Trish, who looked uncomfortable. "Well, well," he said thoughtfully, regaining his composure. "Shit, she's a firecracker, isn't she, Trish?"

The girl looked a little nervous, but obstinately fiery as he pulled himself up to examine her, eyes lingering a long time on the prosthetic. "I once knew a man," he started slowly, "who had no toes."

That seemed to shock her into dropping the facade, and she looked at him strangely. The look said, 'I think this is worse than that.'

"He had no toes," Graverobber continued, "because his legs were amputated. Here," he touched her hip with a finger. "And here." Her thigh. "He lost an arm to flesh-eating disease," his fingers brushed her left shoulder, "here. He went on to become the greatest one-armed SurGEN and then writer I've ever heard of. Dead now, but great when he was alive."

Graverobber turned back to the fire and shot a look at Drench. "So don't tell me someone can't be great without one measly limb." He smirked back at the young girl before sitting back down. "Just because you've done nothing with your life and you have all yours."

The fight left Zaire's eyes like an extinguished flame. She expected shock, embarrassment, maybe even rebuke, but the last thing she expected from this stranger was for him to defend her. Drench's dumbfounded expression reflected her own as she sat back down.

A melancholy mood seemed to settle over the group for a few minutes, as nobody wanted to speak up after Graverobber, but soon Rat pulled out his pack from behind him and began to rummage through it. "Look what I found." He said, pulling out a long metal object. It was hard to see in the flickering light, but it looked like some sort of blade. Rat passed it around the group so they could examine it more closely. It was a machete, with intricate carvings on the handle that looped in dramatic, spiked lines to form some sort of old language. It looked ancient.

"I'm going to take it with me on a raid soon." He said, watching with pleasure as the others admired it. "I figured it might be nice to have something in case I get into trouble. And the carvings look cool- maybe it's lucky or something."

"Where are you going to go?" Trish asked. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah, this should be quick. I've been watching this house for over a week, and the SurGEN leaves at nine and comes back at six every day, and I'm sure there's no one else in the house. I'll break in the back way; it's shaded nicely by bushes. So considerate of her to plant them like that." He said.

Graverobber smiled. "Good luck," he told the guy sincerely. Housebreaking was harder and harder every day with the number of GENforcers increasing, and even if Rat wasn't his favorite thief, it'd be depressing to be around the gang without him cracking jokes.

"Luck," laughed Rat. "I live off skill."

"Well, I'm glad you're so confident," retorted Trish. "I'd take Graves' advice though. Don't be an idiot about it."

"Oh, Trish. Trish, Trish, Trish." Rat grinned at her, leaning over to pinch her cheek. She swatted his hand away. "If this is a profession of your love..."

"It's not."

Rat chuckled. "All right, all right."

xxx

Nathan didn't even consider going into the kitchen to grab the food Resa had left behind. Something else had caught his attention as he passed the hallway. A strange buzzing sound was coming from behind Resa's office door. He pressed his ear against it and listened intently. There it was again, like a giant, angry bee. His hand slid down to the handle and he hesitated only a minute before turning it. It opened. Resa had always locked the door before, and Nathan suddenly expected an alarm to go off, or for the SurGEN to jump out from behind the corner and exclaim, "Aha, I caught you!" But nothing happened. The house was still as empty and still as ever, with only the occasional buzzing noise to break the silence. Nathan pushed the door open further, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. He could soon make out various shapes that loomed in the corners- a desk, chair, filing cabinet, and various bits of mismatched furniture that had been condemned to the windowless room. An old lamp stood to his right. He switched it on.

A quick survey of the room and Nathan soon found the source of the buzzing- Resa had left her cell phone on the desk. He crossed the room and picked up the device. Resa would be missing it, but it probably wasn't a big deal. She still had her pager in case there were any emergencies at work. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. A laptop sat on the desk, quietly humming. Nathan hadn't had any contact with the outside world in so long… he would look at a couple news articles, that's all. Just to keep up with what was going on out there.

He sat down and opened the lid, breathing a silent sigh of releif when the laptop didn't prompt him for a password- Resa hadn't closed it far enough. He connected to the internet and began to surf the news websites. Nothing much surprised him; GeneCo was hiring, meat costs were on the rise, some military team was happy to report that they had won a fight for a few thousand gallons of oil out East, which would be shipped back here and sold for outrageous prices. He scrolled through the articles half-heartedly with his hand under his chin when suddenly his elbow slipped and hit the keyboard, prompting a mass of folders to open on screen. "Oh, for God's sake." He mumbled, trying to close them. He didn't get far when one caught his eye.

xxx

Resa was washing her hands, having just finished a particularly unsuccessful surgery. The man's body had rejected the liver right away, and the Genterns had needed to find a new one on short notice. They hadn't been quick enough. Even one was too many to die under Resa's knife, but so many more than him had perished. It was this stupid cosmetic surgery. It was terrifying. She didn't understand it. Risking death for literal inner beauty? Ninety percent of these people had never seen a real heart in their life.

She sighed, spinning the taps and turning. She jumped when she saw that someone had entered, and wiped her hands quickly on a towel.

"Oh, Miss Sweet," she smiled fakely. "How are the new eyes treating you?"

"Oh," said Amber, scrutinizing her with that dreamy gaze as always. "Fine. I think purple's my color." The violet eyes traveled around the room. Her white jacket and dramatically multicolored, intensely short dress swayed around her. Over fishnets the thigh-high boots and stiletto heels complimented her figure.

"It certainly is," Resa agreed. Her job depended on compliance. "Is there something I can help you with, Miss Sweet?"

"Yes. I've cleared your surgeries for the night. I need another breast job. These last ones you put in aren't firm enough."

Resa nodded, smiling sweetly. The last breasts looked firm enough to her, and she could certainly see enough of them. "Of course. I apologize."

The thin woman peeled off the shaded strip in front of her eyes, swaying her short blonde bob. "It's fine. Just fix it. I'll be back before ten."

"Yes, Miss Sweet."

Resa didn't tell her that she was supposed to be off at ten. You didn't correct Amber Sweet, and she supposed she could use the overtime.

Amber sashayed from the room. Resa let out a breath, feeling relief course through her. She could never relax with the glamorous woman nearby and her life on the line.


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly there was a racket behind them, somewhere in the street, and low sirens began. "Shit," muttered Graverobber, leaping to his feet.

"Get out!" shouted Rat, pulling together his stuff and racing through a side-alley. The others followed suite, scattering. Zaire stood there, looking terrified, and Graverobber raised his eyebrows at her.

"What, you need a formal invitation?" he said firmly. "Get out, kid, run!"

Her eyes flicked to his and she nodded, taking off with her false leg gearing and pumping. Graverobber threw the bottles in a dustbin and pressed himself into a doorway, using the hiding spot to calculate an escape route. He peeked out from behind the corner and saw a small blonde woman in a feathery dress stomping down the alley.  
Thank God it wasn't GENforcers. If it was, he might have made it out without a life-threatening fight.

Zaire didn't make it far down the alleyway when a hand shot out and grabbed her from behind. She spun around, her fists in the air, when she recognized Trish.

"Shhh." The older girl whispered, pulling Zaire out of sight from the intruders.

"Why isn't Graverobber running?" Zaire said, worried. "Shouldn't we help him?" The new stranger disconcerted her, but she couldn't help being concerned for his safety.

"He can take care of himself... unlike you." She reminded Zaire gently. "Don't go getting a big head. It's dangerous out here, and pretending to be brave and being brave are two entirely different things."

Zaire felt embarrassment creep up her neck. Trish was right, of course. Trish was always right. She had spent almost a decade on the streets while Zaire had been here only a few weeks. The other girl was the complete opposite of her: Trish was street smart but didn't know how to read; Zaire could quote obscure literature but was completely useless when it came to the streets. Trish had pale white skin and spiked hair rainbowed in blues and greens and pinks, which made Zaire seem almost invisible next to her with dark chocolate skin and an untamed mess of coiled hair. When Trish had found her she hadn't been more than eighty pounds, but now she was beginning to gain back her normal weight.

Zaire gave into the urge to peer around the corner and caught a glimpse of three figures addressing Graverobber, two of them very large and leather-clad. She turned back to her friend. "Who are those people?" she whispered.

"Amber Sweet and her minions." Trish answered, peering around the corner as well. They watched the unfolding scene from a distance.

xxx

"GRAVEROBBER!"

The sound was so terrifying that he shut his eyes in torment, before sighing and moving back to the street.

"Yes, your highness?" Graverobber asked loudly, striding and fingering the blue vials on his hip. Amber Sweet stood at the mouth of the alley, legs apart and shoulders back, looking at him with the same disgusted face she usually used to regard him.

"I don't have time for games. I need a hit."

He clicked his tongue. "Now, now, sweetheart. What's the magic word?" The glare she shot him made him roll his eyes. "You could stand to be a little nicer. Where's my money, bitch?"

"I'll send someone by with it," she said, sweetening her voice a tad. Graverobber laughed.

"No cash, no hit. You know the rules. Pay now or don't bother showing up."

He knew what came next. A little begging, whining, shouting, eventual gloriously dirty sex in the corner, the handoff, and a few hours of unadulterated shame. For him, at least.

An outraged pout took her face for a moment, then her snakelike smile was back. "C'mon, Graverobber," Amber said in a hoarse, seductive voice, changing her approach completely and sidling up to him. The scantily clad guards that kept her safe stayed where they were. "Just this once?"

He laughed again tritely. "It's never just the once."

Amber pouted again. Twisted her fingers in the fake fur that lined his coat. God, she was beautiful. But something was different about her, something repelled him. Even though she looked exactly the same as she always did: completely different. New crazy outfit, new body part here and there. Her eyes were purple this time, but he liked purple. She was as glamorous and sexy as ever; something just pulled him back from wanting her.

"I'll take you places you've never been," she promised, eyes glinting. "Just one hit of the glow. C'mon, baby."

He was being crazy. Men and women alike would kill to be with Amber Sweet. What was wrong with him?

"Fine," he said, ignoring his instincts and twisting her around, pushing her roughly against the wall. The guards moved, then reluctantly turned away. Amber's gleeful look shone as she ran her hands down his arms, pulling at his jacket. The heavy leather was gone. She spun him against the wall, and then her dress was at her feet. The leather number she wore underneath made Graverobber groan. His hands traveled down her curves and she pulled him closer, trailing her lips along his neck.

"Take me, Graverobber," she breathed raggedly, lifting a leg around him. He stopped.

Something still didn't feel right. He didn't even want this.

He was fucking Graverobber. He stole from corpses for a living. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. Even if he didn't know why.

When her hands traveled to the front of his pants, he grabbed them. She looked up sharply, surprised.

"I changed my mind," he announced, pushing her lightly aside and picking up his jacket.

"What!" she hissed, unable to believe it. "You can't...!"

"Here," he muttered, not knowing what the hell was going on himself, throwing her a glowing vial. "Just take it."

"You can't..." she repeated, looking like she didn't know what to do with herself, getting angry. "Graverobber!"

"You have your glow. Go home," he advised, sliding into his jacket.

"What the hell was that?" she shouted at him.

"I'm not into it tonight, Amber," he said sternly. "Don't push it."

"You think I'm ugly, don't you? You're not attracted to me anymore!"

He laughed at the sheer stupidity of the statement, and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen, all right? Drop it. Go home."

For a moment her eyes shone from the compliment. But he knew a woman like Amber Sweet wouldn't drop it. And there was no going back.

She motioned to one of the guards, and Graverobber ducked just in time to dodge a blow from the electric guns they carried. He hit the ground hard.

"Chrissakes, Sweet!" he shouted angrily, deep voice wary. "You have what you came for, now go!"

She stood over him, the most powerful woman in the world, and though his face didn't show it, he was scared shitless. She threw the Z to the ground next to him and it shattered, spilling the precious blue liquid on the ground.

"I'll go to someone else from now on," she snarled. "Seeing as you won't be around to help me anymore."

He actually feared for his life when she nodded to the guards.

"Take care of him," she instructed venomously, turning away. "Goodbye, Graverobber. No cracks to slip through this time."

Graverobber's heart stuck in his throat as the huge men approached.

"Fuck you, Amber!" he shouted as the first boot slammed into his side. He never should have given her the first vial.

"Fuck me?" he heard her laugh. "If you'd just done that, you wouldn't be in this mess, would you?"

xxx

Since the trucks went through the graveyard, Shilo went inside through her mother's tomb instead of walking around. Something inside her felt a bit empty when she realized Graverobber probably wouldn't be coming back. She put on one of Blind Mag's songs while she made herself dinner, but it was still too heartrending to listen to her godmother, and she turned it off in favor of the television. It was a drama, something with a woman standing in the rain.

Shilo blindly went through the task of heating up some Parmesan substitute, sliding it onto the table and falling in front of it. The house was quiet without Graverobber, who hung around, incessantly talking and talking and talking. A startling realization hit her as she realized she never talked. Yeah, the occasional small talk, the silly conversation, the greetings and insults. But never did she say anything she actually wanted to. Suddenly she was angry at Graverobber. He hadn't even asked her to talk! Her godmother and idol had just been killed, and her father, the only man she had ever known, the only person who ever knew her, was gone. And he just sat there like the smug bastard he was, asking for food and making her watch his stupid programs on TV!

Never had he asked, even once, if she was okay. That hurt.

With a sigh, she tucked in. The fake chicken was dry, the Parmesan tasted like rubber. She decided to yell at Graverobber whenever he decided to show up again.

The dish ended up in the garbage, her hunger dissipated. Shilo made herself think about that stupid, horrible man, because as soon as she stopped, the bad thoughts crept in again.

She missed her dad. She never thought she would when he was alive, but it felt like half her heart was missing now. A ghost of him was around every corner, smiling and frowning at her, laughing and shouting orders. She still wore her wristcomm because when the emotionless female voice ordered her to medicate immediately, she could disobey. Part of this was the expectation of hearing Nathan Wallace's strict tone echoing through the speaker, and part of it was just to turn it off like she'd always wanted to.

No. No thinking about him.

She dragged herself through the house, trying to find something to distract herself. Books; but all the non-medical ones were too well-handled. TV; but it couldn't cut deeply enough through her thoughts. Maybe she should go out.  
Or into her father's study.

"Hurry up," she said aloud, addressing Graverobber. "I might do something stupid."

He didn't come, and the study was unlocked.

"Shit," she gasped, an attack gripping her as a flood of memories came back in a raging torrent. She hadn't expected this. Her dad had spent hours in here, Shilo usually with him. The smell ... that old smell like books and aftershave and soap ... it ravaged her thoughts.

Feeling like she could vomit, lightheaded, she forced her feet to move to his desk, and collapsed in the chair. One of his jumpers was nearby and she grabbed it desperately, holding it tightly as tears blurred her vision. She buried her face in it. That smell. It was her daddy's smell.

_"Shilo, what are you doing in here?"  
_

_"I wanted to play computer."  
_

_"You know you're not allowed in here without me."_

Oh god. The overwhelming emotions. The fucking scent. The attack. They were easier to fight off now, and rare, but still powerful.

_"Daddy, can we play doctor?"  
_

_"I'm busy, Shi."  
_

_"Please?"_

She could hear the pleading waver in her own voice as she called for her daddy. But he wasn't coming. He always came when she needed him.

_"Okay. What do I have this time?"  
_

_"Um ... typhoid!"_

Chuckling. He'd chuckled. She was chuckling.

_"Where did you hear that word?"  
_

_"Your books."_

Amusement. Laughter. Hysterics.

She was sobbing. The sweater was wet against her cheeks. She couldn't stop. Shilo felt herself curling up on the big chair around the sweater, like she was its moon. It was grounding her.

"Dad..."

_"I love you, Shilo."  
_

_"I love you too, daddy."_

Too much. It was too much. The darkness overcame her and she fell asleep, sobbing to old records playing in her head.

_"Don't leave, dad, the monsters will get me."  
_

_"I'll never leave, Shi. Never ever. Daddy's here."_


	6. Chapter 6

Resa had one more surgery to perform and then she had two hours to kill until her employer's return. She finished up some paperwork and then wandered, looking for one of her SurGEN friends to talk to.

"Oh, hi, Asha!" she smiled at a Gentern passing. Usually she ignored Genterns, because they just weren't worth the effort it took to get an intelligent sentence out of them, but this tall, willowy girl had played as her assistant-type intern for months a few years before. She was the smartest woman Resa had ever met, and even retained the smart-girl look in the shortest white dress imaginable.

"Hey, Resa! I was just about to go for a coffee run. Are you busy?" The smile Asha shot her was a bit distant, her long, cloudy white hair swooshing around her. Asha was a dreamer, no doubt, with huge grey eyes that shone even under the red mask. She wasn't pretty at a first glance, just strange and alien-looking, but Resa thought she was beautiful in an odd, disproportionate way.

"No, just waiting on Amber Sweet."

"A-ha, what is it this time? Kneecaps?"

Resa grinned at the thought. "Breasts again." She shrugged. "I dunno, I like her breasts as they are. Anyway, I'd love a coffee."

"Great!"

The wide, bright smile was as infectious as always. Her perfectly straight teeth were probably the only normal thing about Asha, though the large sunflower in her lapel and patterned stockings mostly refuted it.

She looked a lot stranger than the first day she'd started working with Resa. She'd actually looked so normal that the SurGEN had ignored her for a long time, assuming she was just as dull-witted as the next GeneCo sex-slave. Asha, however, had been tricked by her father, who wanted to reap the rewards of having a GeneCo-employed daughter, into becoming a Gentern. She actually hated the job, though you wouldn't know it from the way she floated from room to room, head somewhere else completely as she obediently handed you any tool you asked for. Ask her for a needle-head scalpel and you'd get it no problem. Ask her opinion on the war in southern France and you'd get nothing without a few repetitions. Even then you'd more likely get a lecture on the reproduction cycles of radishes or a few hummed bars of Beethoven's Fifth. She was sweet though, distracted and dreamy and odd and mostly serious, and Resa liked her.

They talked lightly as they made their way to the little coffee shop across the street from work, and Resa tried hard not to tell her everything about Nathan. Asha was the closest thing to a friend that she'd had since Bea's death, and even though they didn't see each other often, Resa sensed that they could be like sisters if they tried. And she really, really wanted to tell someone about the handsome and sharp Repo Man she'd saved.

xxx

It was a folder marked simply "bea." Nathan didn't mean to pry, in fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do; however, his curiosity overpowered him and he found himself skimming through the folder's contents. It was filled with old news articles, pictures, and videos from years ago. Nathan opened one photo and found himself looking at two children, both girls. One was sitting proudly on a yellow tricycle, while the other one, quite a bit older, stood behind her on the lawn. They both wore grins of uncontainable delight under their gleaming eyes and scrupulously straight bangs. The photograph was taken at a slight angle as if by accident, and the candidness of it all made Nathan smile.

The next photo he came across was of the two girls again, but this time they had transformed into eager young adults. It was at this time that Nathan recognized the older one as Resa. Their smiles were very much the same, but he paused as his gaze settled on the younger girl's face. This time the smile didn't reach her eyes, and there was something terribly wrong with the expression in them. The next photo told him why.

When he came across it Nathan sucked in a breath and felt his stomach churn. The sister who had smiled so easily when she sat on the tricycle was now hooked up to a swarm of machines, tubes twisting into her arms and nose and mouth. Her skin was chalk white, and there was hardly an ounce of fat on her toothpick-thin arms. Her beautiful dark hair that had been cut so precisely was now all gone and her eyes stared out blankly at the camera under missing eyebrows.

Resa was by her side, an expression of distress in her posture but a face of courage in case her sister looked at her.

"Oh, Resa," Nathan murmured, "I had no idea." He remembered the SurGEN talking about her sister's cancer, but to see it so… well, so _graphically_ was startling. He made a mental note to talk to her again when she came home, if just to apologize for her loss again. He just felt like it was necessary.

The rest of the folder seemed to be filled with sentimental items, including home movies and old college essays. He stopped as he came across an article about a murder.

"_SUSPECT CONFESSES IN CRUCIFIXUS MURDER CASE_," The headline read. Nathan scanned the article, at first curious, then apprehensive. It read:

"_Around 3PM yesterday, neighbors reported hearing shouts coming from the residence at 436 Hocus Street. GENforcers arrived to find one woman dead and another, the victim's daughter, distraught and holding the victim in her arms. Autopsy reports later confirmed that the victim had died from a stab wound in the abdomen. When found, the victim's daughter was suffering from an injury to the kidney resulting from an alleged struggle. The victim's daughter later confessed to the murder of her mother, who the autopsy confirmed to be Mrs Stella Hart. The daughter has now been identified as Ms. Resa Donnell, a prominent doctor at Crucifixus Hospital and Rehabilitation center-_"

The article went on for another half a page, but Nathan couldn't read any more. He felt like he was going to throw up. The blood was pounding in his ears. He tried to get up and back away from the computer, knocking down the chair in the process and slipping and falling himself. _Resa? Resa was a murderer? _The words spun around in his head and he suddenly panicked. When was she going to tell him? Or was she going to say anything at all? Nathan thought he heard someone walk by the front door and froze, praying with all his might that she wouldn't find him in here. What would she do? He knew now what she was capable of.

But no one entered, and Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't stay still for long, however. He sprang to his feet and raced out of the room, his injured leg throbbing in protest. He had to get out of the house, if just for a little while. He had to get some air. The throbbing in his leg reminded him to grab a zydrate gun first, which he easily found upstairs and stuffed in his pocket. Within a few minutes he was gone.

xxx

"By the way," said Asha casually, sipping her coffee-resembling beverage. "Do you have that report I slipped you yesterday? I kind of need to put it back before Luigi realizes..."

"Oh, right," remembered Resa. The report on Nathan Wallace, his hiring and later termination with GeneCo. She hadn't had time to read it, but it seemed mostly numbers and professional details. Asha, having been promoted to the oldest Largo's assistant, had been able to easily sneak it from his files. "I totally forgot, I'm sorry... How long is your break? I could stop at my house to grab it."

"I'll come with you," Asha beamed. "Luigi said he didn't need me around until later."

"No, it's all right," Resa said, and quickly changed the subject. She didn't know how Asha would react to finding the wanted fugitive in her friend's house. It was also best to drag as little a number of people as possible into the situation, and she didn't want to endanger the kind-hearted girl. "I don't know how you can stand to be near that man at all, let alone so much. He could kill you if you made the smallest mistake!"

"So I don't make mistakes," Asha smiled. "Easy. Besides, he's not all bad. Sometimes he talks to me about personal things. I think he trusts me. That's why it was so easy to get the file."

Resa smiled. "I really appreciate it."

"Good! Anyway, I'd love to come!"

Resa smiled, her heart stopping. Asha would be able to tell if she was lying, no problem. "It's really okay, I need to clean like the dickens." What if Asha found Nathan? What would she think? She would probably stay quiet about it, but then again, Asha kept no secrets. Resa was pretty sure she didn't know what secrets were.

"Why, are you hiding something?" Asha teased.

"No!" Resa said too quickly, too tensely, and laughed. "No, no, just an embarrassing mess."

Asha gave her a look.

Twenty minutes later they were flying towards Resa's house on her bike, going as slow as the law would allow. Her heart pounded furiously against the leather coat, and she wondered if she would be able to call ahead to warn Nathan. The constant reminder of Asha's arms looped around her waist made that impossible though.

The bike hesitantly pulled into the shed and with shaking hands Resa pulled off her helmet, whipping around her hair. "D'you want to wait out here?" she asked. "It'll only take a second."

"No, I've never seen your house before," Asha said dreamily, eyes drifting around the tiny shed, filled with junk from various junkyard escapades.

"Right." Resa sighed inaudibly and swung off. The trek inside the house and up the stairs seemed to take a lot longer than usual. Resa seized a breath of relief when she saw that Nathan's door was closed. However, the study's door was wide open.

"Huh."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing, I just usually keep this door locked. My computer's in there, you know, just in case someone breaks in." Resa peeked inside, and verified that everything was in its place. But the computer was open. Her heart skipped a beat. Had Nathan...? No, he wouldn't. Would he?

"Shit!" Resa groaned as she realized what was on the screen. "Oh, God. Oh, shit." She slammed the laptop closed.

"What?"

"Nathan!" Resa shouted, oblivious to Asha now. Panic clouded her mind. "NATHAN!"

She raced down the stairs and ripped open the door to the lab. Empty. The blue tube of Zydrate dripped wastefully on the floor.

"My - my brother-" she panted, gasping, to Asha, terror gripping her tongue and rendering speech useless. The lie might hold, if the gentern hadn't registered the name on the file she'd borrowed. "I - I have to find him - he's sick - can you-"

"I'll take a cab back to GeneCo," Asha said helpfully. "You find him."

"Thank you!" gasped Resa. "The report's in a drawer in my desk, you can lock the door behind you. I'm so sorry!"  
And she grabbed at her jacket, racing to the bike. She wasn't sure when he'd left, or how long the diluted Zydrate would hold him. If he started writhing on the street - maybe going into shock or relapsing - shit - GENforcers would be sure to find him - she had to find him first and explain ... hopefully she wouldn't have to rescue him again.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ticket? Do you have your ticket, sir?" A handsome man stood with one hand out, the other in the pocket of his shiny blue conductor uniform. Nathan stared at him for a minute before mumbling something intelligible and stumbling away from the train station.

He didn't know how long he had been outside since he didn't have a watch, but it had been enough time for him to decide what to do. Resa had obviously lied to him; or at least avoided the truth, and if Nathan had any common sense at all he would leave and never come back. But then he had started thinking about the way she had treated him, and the way she fluffed his pillows when she was anxious, and the way she chewed absent-mindedly on her hazelnut hair when she didn't think he was looking. Resa reminded him of someone he knew a long time ago, and every day he spent with her was a painful reminder of something he knew he had lost, but he still enjoyed every moment of her company.

He couldn't abandon her like this; he imagined she was going crazy right now with worry. He had to at least give her a chance to explain herself. She deserved it.

xxx

Zaire pulled herself away from the scene with Graverobber in time to see a man pass by about a hundred yards down the pavement. He wasn't watching where he was going and had cut through an alley, his head of graying hair cast down and his shoulders hunched. She slowly grinned. He would be easy.

xxx

Perhaps he should head back. It was getting dark already, and Nathan had done enough thinking to make his head hurt. He looked around, noticing for the first time that he had wandered deep into the suburbs, and was now around the back of a row of buildings somewhere downtown. He had no idea exactly where, and a tinge of nervousness settled coldly into his stomach. He was too busy looking around to see her approach at first, her swagger making the plastic beads in her hair clack together in rhythm. Nathan looked up as she passed by him smoothly, and then a skinny hand shot out and swiped the zydrate gun from his back pocket. Nathan had barely realized what happened when she was already ten yards away.

"Hey!" He cried out, taking off after her, "Stop! That's mine! I need it!"

The girl hardly glanced over her shoulder as he chased her. She raced to the end of the alley and rounded a corner where she suddenly slid to a stop, one mechanical leg screeching loudly on the cement. Nathan caught up to her and instantly realized why. A GENforcer towered over them, his black gloved hand gripping the girl by the neck. Nathan felt his breath catch in his throat, suddenly grateful for the approaching darkness as the shadows helped him from being seen clearly. The girl squealed loudly, struggling in the officer's grasp, but the man only tightened his grip. "Is this yours?" He pried the zydrate gun from the girl's hand.

"Uh, yeah." Nathan panted, "I'm allowed to- I mean, she wasn't-"

The girl stared at him with terrified eyes and Nathan found himself unable to speak.

"A zydrate thief, then. A miniature graverobber." The GENforcer laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Nathan felt his blood turn cold. GENforcers weren't known for being merciful. Suddenly he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of metal caught the moonlight and a muffled thunk made Nathan wince. The officer let go of the girl and toppled over, hitting the ground with a thud. Nathan looked up in time to see a teenager with neon hair and a young man wielding a machete, the latter who had smacked the GENforcer in the back of the skull with the butt of the blade. They were there with the girl only a second and then the three of them were gone again, dissolving into the labyrinth that was the suburb alleys of Crucifixus.

It only took a second for Nathan to take off as well, before the GENforcer came to. He cursed to himself as he made his getaway. Dirty thieves, the lot of them. Sewer rats that now had his zydrate. But he couldn't get their faces out of his head. It was something about the way they looked at him, like they knew him from somewhere. It was possible, he supposed. Even if his memory seemed to disagree with him, he still had a life before the last few weeks.  
Nathan stuck to the lighted sidewalks on his way back home- home? Was it? The thought struck him with an odd feeling, but he liked it. He could get used to coming "home" to Resa.

The approaching darkness made Nathan uneasy. He walked through the emptying streets, not really knowing how to get home, but knowing which direction to go. He passed a junkyard and stopped, reaching through the fence to grab a shard of broken glass. He gripped it tightly, already feeling more protected with his new weapon.

The roaring of the bike's engine as it tore down the road was enough to dim Resa's far-too-good-for-this-situation imagination, which occasionally flashed her images of Nathan's body, mangled and thrown away somewhere, or comatose again, or in the grabby hands of a GeneCo grunt... She shook her head and continued her search, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Resa forced herself to calm down, knowing logic would far outweigh emotionality in helpfulness. Instead of thinking about Nathan's safety, she calculated the search area. Even if he'd left right after she did at noon, it would have been impossible to leave an twelve-mile radius walking. Cut that in half because of his condition. Six miles. North was uphill, so the flatter south would be less likely to aggravate his condition. That left half a mile north, and still six miles south. However, GeneCo was one mile south, and he would have been unbelievably lucky to make it past the patrolling GENforcers in the area, as their numbers thickened around GeneCo. As a last resort she could check that area. It didn't make sense for him to stay within about a half mile of the house, so she searched that part more lightly.

That left a rectangle six miles wide and a mile and a half long. Okay. She had a battle plan.

She first moved west from her mother's house, trying to hurry, because each hour she took checking every alleyway and every doorway increased the risk that Nathan was moving farther in the other direction, or further into a coma, or hurting more, or closer to a group of GENforcers.

She didn't worry so much about the GENforcers unless there were a lot of them at one time. Nathan was a Repo Man; she was sure, unless he was relapsing, that he could handle a few of them. However, if they reported to Amber ... also, if he _had_ left at noon, the Zydrate in his bloodstream would be depleted by now. The chances were high that he wouldn't survive an attack. If he'd left a few hours before or less, however, he might make it for another while, depending on movement.

It had been an hour. Resa was past the end of the west boundary, and no sign of Nathan. She turned back, racing as fast as her baby would take her to the other side. The sound of train whistles filled her ears, and she shook her head, finding the noise incredibly distracting.

It seemed as if she'd never find him. Hopelessness seeped through her and a few tears escaped, flying back in the wind. Resa sniffed, wiping her face on the shirt sleeve that hung out of the jacket.

"Why'd you have to be such an _idiot_, Nathan?" she growled in frustration, trying to see through the blur of tears. She ended up having to pull over, angrily wiping away the moisture that delayed her search. "You couldn't have waited there, safe and not dying, and waited for me to get home. You could have taken me! I'm a girl!"

A guttural laugh escaped her throat. She jammed her helmet back on her head, kicking the bike back into gear, and stopped, staring ahead. He was there, a huge, familiarly-shaped silhouette against the glowing smog of Crucifixus. Her jaw dropped, and stomach flipped painfully. All the relief and stress and anger that surged through her caused a dry sob in her throat, and she leapt off of the bike, striding purposefully towards the figure.

"Nathan Williams!" she shouted with all the frustration and worry and anger she could muster. "What the HELL were you thinking?"

Nathan felt a torrent of emotions rush to the surface as he spotted Resa approach him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her forehead was creased in worry. After a day on the streets without zydrate, Nathan doubted that he looked much better. By now his leg throbbed angrily at him, and his ribcage felt as if it was shattering with every beat of his heart. He was not in a good mood. As she walked up to him he first felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and then he remembered why he had left in the first place. Then she shouted at him. As if she had a right to be mad at _him._ He had done nothing but sit there and be fed lies by her. He felt a dangerous pressure in the back of his mind, but he ignored it and confronted her in the middle of the sidewalk.

"What was_ I_ thinking? You lied to me! How could you do that? Are you even a SurGEN, or something worse, Resa? If that is even your real name!"

Resa's eyes widened at his spiteful tone and she glanced around and pulled him into a nearby doorway out of the light.

"Look," Resa started, voice shaking. She hated confrontation. She tried to smile, but for once, it was impossible. "I-I don't know what you read, but ... I can't ... I can't..." Her voice caught and she couldn't finish, she just stood there and stared at the ground.

"Don't lie to me!" Nathan's voice shook with such rage that he barely recognized it. The dark thing in his mind was pounding ferociously, trying to break through and engulf him again. He barely managed to restrain it.

"I never lied. But I can't tell you the truth," she whispered. "You'll hate me, you'll hate me, and I can't do it ... can't we just go back? Please? We'll forget all of this, I'll go on taking care of you, we can just ... forget all of this."

The look on Nathan's face was murderous. It terrified her. She'd never seen such a look on anyone, let alone her gentle Repo Man. Then it clicked in her brain that he _was_ a Repo Man. He'd probably murdered thousands of people, most prettier and more charming and more innocent people than she could hope to be, without a second thought. Why would he hesitate to kill her, right here and now, with his bare hands? Because she'd saved him? Yeah, right. A shiver of terror ran through her. Why had she pulled him into this hidden corner of the world? She could keep a secret but lose her life.

"Please, we need to get you back," she shuddered again, trying to distract him. What if he collapsed right there? What would she do? She hadn't thought to bring enough Zydrate, only the syringe she kept on her, and there was no way she could hold him on her motorcycle while driving. Even with the fear coursing through her, she was worried. "We can talk there, you can even kill me there, I just want to make sure you're okay..."

The movement was fast and instinctive, and almost before Nathan knew what he was doing he had Resa pinned against the doorway with the shard of glass at her throat. "I found the articles," he growled, seeing terror in her eyes. He felt a familiar thrill electrify his senses. "I know what you did." Nathan was losing control. The hand that pressed the glass against Resa's neck was not his own, but it knew precisely where to cut to detach her esophagus. Nathan's fingers knew exactly where to press to snap the spinal cord in her neck, and Nathan's mind most definitely knew how many seconds it would take her to die after he cracked open her ribcage like a treasure chest and began harvesting the fortune of organs that pulsed inside.

Resa didn't know what to do. She was more frightened than she'd ever been in her life, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't think ... her heart pounded in her throat. She gasped, feeling panic grip her in cold fingers. "I don't ... Nathan ... please..." She had to force words. Why was she fighting? She could just let him do it, let him end it. She was tired, sick of pretending and moving through life like she actually had a reason to be there. And suddenly, a cold calmness swept through her. The guilt that she'd been swallowing for years came up like bile, overwhelming and painful and horrible, and she began to sob.

"Just kill me," she said softly, hiccoughing. "It's not worth it. I killed them, I killed them, Nathan, it's all my fault. I don't know what to do. I can't live like this. Everything is a lie..."

The Repo Man didn't move. Something was stirring in his features.

"Just do it!" the words ripped themselves from her, strangled and bent, trying to anger him further. "End it! _Kill me!_"

This confession and outburst of emotion caught Nathan off guard. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering at her throat. It would be so easy, just a twitch of his fingers, but he'd known the moment he pressed the glass to her skin that he had no intention of drawing blood. Nathan felt himself regain control of his senses again, the darkness in his mind lifting like a curtain. He dropped the glass.

Resa was practically begging him to end her life, but she stared at him in astonishment as he stepped away.  
"I'm not going to kill you." He said, his hands up in defeat. "I'm sorry. I just want an explanation." But then he remembered what she said. "You killed _them?_ There's more than one?"

Resa closed her eyes, heart beginning to thud again as Nathan moved away. The blood was hot in her ears. He was saying something. Why wasn't she dead?

Partly out of relief, partly shame, mostly guilt and anger and disbelief, she slid to the cold ground, holding a hand to her face as everything hit her at once. Shuddering breath. Silent sobs racking her body. Everything she'd avoided the last two years in front of her. Staring at her. Judging her.

More than one, he'd said.

"Yeah," she gulped cold air, trying to calm down. Nausea was beginning to take her. "My sister. It wasn't - she wouldn't - it was my fault." Hiccough. "It was my fault. It wasn't on purpose, though, I just wanted her to be better!"

And then she vomited. The foul smell mingled with the stale alleyway scents, and she stumbled away from the mess, gulping for fresh air. "Sorry," she gasped to Nathan, who moved to support her. Resa waved him away, falling to all fours again. But the nausea was gone and she gulped, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and falling back, feeling water prick her eyes. Miraculously, she had missed her clothes.

Nathan helped her to her feet, worried. "Are you okay?" he asked, although she obviously wasn't. Resa just shook her head and Nathan suddenly felt terrible for forcing her to explain herself, seeing how much pain it caused her, but he couldn't let her stop now. There was something in her eyes that told him she wanted- no, desperately _needed_ to confess something that had been slowly crushing her for years.

"Sorry," she said again, trying to chuckled to regain some composure. "I'm better now. I feel a bit melodramatic." The feelings of guilt and fright and horror were beginning to subside along with the nausea, but she still felt awful inside. "I'm so sorry for lying to you, Nathan," she murmured.

"Come on, then." Nathan took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He wasn't sure who the sudden contrast of emotions surprised more- him or the SurGEN. Only a moment ago he had been ready to rip out her throat, and now he was taking care that she didn't catch cold. Nathan wondered for a second if he might have some sort of split-personality disorder or schizophrenia, but he waved the thought away almost immediately. That kind of stuff was in movies; it didn't happen to people, and it most certainly didn't happen to him. He looked at Resa, who had drawn his coat tight around herself and stared, exhausted and empty, at her feet. Nathan couldn't sort this out now; he had more important things to worry about. "Let's go home." He told her, "I'll make you some tea-" He winced as his leg throbbed again- "and grab some Zydrate, and then you can tell me everything."

Resa seemed to have no objections to this, or she was just too tired to argue.

When they arrived back at her house, Nathan locked up the motorcycle and found a blanket for Resa, which she gratefully curled under. Soon they were sitting on the sofa with a fire crackling in the fireplace, warm tea in their hands, and the night left outside to form its own sinister ghouls and monsters far away from her cozy home. "So," Nathan said, taking a sip of his tea. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Resa was stumped, just staring at the digital fireplace. Where had it begun? Everything... how could she explain to Nathan how much her mother had hurt her, the constant struggle between the love and even stronger hate that had dominated her emotions for so many years? Explain Bea, and her sweetness, and her unwillingness to let Resa slump, and her constant loyalty, and the guilt. The idea of explaining everything was laughable. She decided to let her emotions play as little a part in the monologue as she could, letting Nathan decide for himself whether she deserved persecution. Based on events, not emotions. Maybe she wanted him to hate her. Maybe it was because part of her had expected to die in that alley. Maybe because part of her still wanted to. She only knew that it was hard to be cheery at the moment.

"I guess ... the first thing is that my mom and dad had me," she chuckled darkly. "My dad told me that the pregnancy made her look like a whale afterwards, so she borrowed money from my grandparents for surgery. But she had an addictive personality. So..."

"She was addicted to Zydrate," guessed Nathan. She shot him a brief, tight smile.

"Yeah. Addicted." More laughter. "She lived off of the stuff. She wasn't addicted. She breathed it. It got so bad that my dad took me away, we moved out of the city completely. She stayed here." Resa gestured around the expansive house with a hint of disgust. "I don't remember much, I was only three. Anyway, then dad met Lauren. I loved her. She made me want to be a surgeon, actually. I couldn't even remember mum, but I remember Lauren.

"Then Beatrice was born when I was six, and I didn't even like her much. She was too adorable, too sweet, too loved by dad and Lauren. But she was sweet. Eventually she was everything to me." Resa smiled fondly, lost in the feelings of childhood. "I know most kids don't have great childhoods nowadays, but mine was the best possible. That is, until I turned fifteen, and the Repo men caught up with us. Bea was asleep, but I heard them. Dad had decided to get a new liver when mum did, and Lauren ... I don't even know what she did. I know that she wasn't even at 90 days, though. GeneCo just decided to get them both over with at the same time." Resa curled up tighter, voice getting quieter and quieter. The screams were playing in her head, that hopeless shouting. She swore she could hear blood spattering the floor. "Mum came to get us, me and Bea, and she took us back. She told Bea she was her aunt. Bea assumed that Lauren was my mom too.

"She said she was better. She promised and promised. But I saw her leaving every night. She ignored Bea all the time, and occasionally asked me if I had any homework. Usually the fridge was empty, so I got an after-school job as a janitor just to keep us in food. It was better than growing up on the streets, anyway."

She looked quickly at Nathan. "I'm not boring you, am I? This stuff isn't really relative. I tend to ramble."

Resa also knew she was procrastinating the part that Nathan really wanted to hear. How was she supposed to justify her actions?

"No, of course not." Nathan reassured her, but he secretly wished she would hurry up. He studied Resa, who looked absolutely miserable, but certainly not someone who could stab her own mother. What kind of terrible event in her past had led this poor creature to commit cold-blooded murder?


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n: Okay, I just wanna apologize for this one because Resa's story turned out a total mirror of Nathan's and I didn't even mean for it to! I'm not trying to make her a mary-sue or anything, I swear… anyway, I apologize, even though I still kinda like her story. I was lazy and wanted to get it out of the way, and since this whole thing's basically about Nathan's plight Danay said she didn't mind if I got it all out right away :P**

**Oh well! It's just fanfiction. **

"Are you _insane? _You could've gotten hurt!"

Zaire stared at her sneakers, mumbling something in response.

"What?" Trish stopped pacing and looked at her. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I said how was I supposed to know that a GENforcer would be there? They never come into the suburbs this deep!"  
"That's your great defense? You didn't know? Well then that makes everything just fine then, doesn't it?" Trish said sarcastically.

"Maybe you should have let her get caught." Rat spoke up from where he was leaning against a wall, his mop of dark brown hair falling into his eyes. He had been watching Trish's scolding with mild curiosity while turning the machete over and over in his hands with great affection. ("This thing really is lucky, I told you so!" He proclaimed the minute they were safely away from the scene.) Now he stood up and made his way over to them. "If she got caught it would teach her to be more careful." He suggested.

"Oh yeah, and a lot of help that'll do her if she's dead." Trish said.

xxx

"Sorry," Resa said again, knowing that he wasn't being honest. "Anyway, I went through med school and was working as a doctor when Bea was diagnosed with cancer. I ... I'm the one who diagnosed her. Can you imagine how hard it is to tell a stranger they're a living death sentence, let alone your own sister?" Resa's fingers trembled on the white mug as her sister's face came back, clear as day, devastated beyond belief. "Even working as a doctor we didn't have that kind of money, and mum's organ payments had drained grandma and grandpa of anything they could have provided. I ... decided to treat her myself. I just thought, hey, there are some things that cure cancer most of the time, I can do this. It's not a big deal."

Resa gulped. "She was nineteen when the chemical radiation I gave her made her bald. She didn't care, she just made sure I didn't feel bad." Her eyes were beginning to prick again. "Each experimental treatment I tried just seemed to make it worse. Soon I had her hooked up to all sorts of machines; 'Here, Bea, try this, it's worked for some people in the Netherlands,' 'This one's the one for sure, it seems a little dangerous, but it's got a seventy percent survival rate,' 'Honestly, Bea, this is the cure. Doctor Flanders gave it to me, it's perfect.' In the end I killed her." Shaking hands. Deep breath. "It wasn't cancer. Everything pointed towards cancer, but I diagnosed it wrong. It was slowly eating away at her while I cured some disease she didn't even have! What kind of a doctor am I!" More deep breaths. "I tell people it was the cancer because I _need_ my reputation, you understand? It's the only thing I have left. Without it, I'm just ... Resa. The failed doctor-slash-murderer."

Nathan felt a wave of relief wash over him. _That's all?_ He felt like saying, _I know it's a big deal to you, but it was an accident. It's not like you stabbed someone. _But the irony of the statement kept him quiet. Evidently she _had_ stabbed someone, and he was about to find out why. He could tell that this confession of her sister's death weighed heavily on her though, much heavier than it should. Nathan felt a kind of understanding stir deep within him. She had nothing now; because she had diagnosed her sister improperly.

The story was sickeningly familiar. Nathan felt nauseous for a moment as he was suddenly plunged into a memory in which he was handing a vial to someone. He couldn't tell who, but the feelings of pain and guilt and loss were so strong and so realistic in those few seconds that he actually cried out. Resa looked at him with concern.

"Sorry," he said, confused. "I think I just had a daydream." He grasped at the last threads of memory as they vanished from his mind, and he was left to gaze helplessly at Resa. "I think I did something similar to someone I know," he said slowly, "I wish I could remember more." But the vision had evaporated.

Nathan focused back on Resa. "So, you tried to save her," he confirmed, "That's not a crime. You made a mistake, that's all."

Resa wanted to pry further into the memory, but the incorrectness of his statement stirred her instincts more.

"No!" she said harshly. "It was my fault! I-"

She cut herself off, remembering the emotion bit, and coughed. "Sorry. I won't go ranting. Well ... by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. I never told Bea. She died a year later. I tried so hard to bring her back. So hard. But we'd been preparing for it for a while. She never blamed me. She should have." Welling tears. Resa swiped at her eyes irritably. "I kept her in her bed for a bit, just ... sitting there. Waiting for something. A miracle, I guess. Nothing happened, of course. So I carried her out for the collectors - she was just a tiny thing - and rode the truck with her to the graveyard. They just..." she paused, collecting herself. Breathe, Resa. "They just took her so unceremoniously. I mean, what's another body, I guess, and I was the only one who cared about her. But still ... I wish I could have afforded a proper funeral and a grave. She was just a body though." Resa began to pick at the loose fabric in the blanket. "Whatever was left of her was gone long before. My _skill_ as a doctor made sure of that. She was just an emaciated, bald thing, but who she was was still beautiful when she was alive. Now she didn't even have that.

"They took her and just threw her on the pile with the others. The pile that still had to be harvested. I left before I could see any of that. The collectors offered me a ride home, but I went to the pub instead. I got smashed. I can't blame what I did on the alcohol, but I was totally smashed. I never touched the Zydrate though. That was a mistake, I think.

"Mother was home when I got back." It was still odd talking about her mum. Ten years and she still didn't know how to address her. "I'd sobered up a lot after the walk. She ... she was sitting in Bea's bed. I thought she was crying at first but ... she had the Z drip in her arm. My gun was on the ground, blue used up and empty. You have to understand," she pleaded with Nathan, swallowing hard, "I was so messed up. So, completely messed up. The worst place I've ever been in my life. I was awful after dad and Lauren were killed, but I was a wreck after losing Bea too." She couldn't breathe. She fought to order the events in her mind, the whole thing a blurred mess.

"I told her to take the drip out. It was still warm from my sister, and she had the audacity to use it. She was so far gone by that point I don't even know if she heard me, though. I ... I started yelling, throwing things at her. She was in Bea's bed! _Bea's bed!_ And she wouldn't leave!" Resa's voice was a frantic whisper now, lost in emotion. What would he think of her after this? Would he hate her? "She just sat there, using _Bea's_ Zydrate! I went and got street Z for her, and it was all going into that junkie whore! I ... I picked up a scalpel. The huge kind. I wasn't going to use it, I wasn't ... but she finally looked at me, and said, 'What? You're going to attack your own mother?'" The voice echoed in her head like some kind of sick ghost, slurred and drawn out. "And I told her, 'You were never my mother!' I told her that!" Resa was astounded at herself. She hadn't dragged up these memories for years. "She ran at me. I thought she was attacking me, but I guess she just wanted the scalpel out of my hands. Something happened, and there was this sharp, unbearable pain in my midsection. And ... I stabbed her. I just thrust the knife into her stomach. You know what her last words were?" The laugh that escaped Resa was high and mangled, not hers. "'I can't feel a thing.'" Her hands were shaking visibly, hard. Pale. Clammy. Her voice was upping an octave. She'd never told anyone this stuff, ever.

"These hands," she murmured, holding them out and staring at them like they were monsters. "They ... they killed my mother. They were soaked in her blood. They destroyed the last family I ever had." She choked. "Everything's blank after that. I must have sat there for hours with her. I don't remember. Eventually I realized what happened. I got angry at her. At _her_! Like it was her fault! I started yelling again, destroying all the lab equipment I'd gathered to save Bea.

"Eventually I attracted some GENforcers with the racket. Before I knew it Rotti Largo was in front of me, holding my head with both hands to keep my attention on him, offering me a position as a SurGEN in exchange for cover-up. I said no. I was still in hysterics. I spat in his face. And he talked so softly and gently the whole time, the kindest expression. And I spit in it. Then the horrible twisting in my stomach came back, and even after that, Rotti offered me surgery. I said no. I wanted to die. And they locked me up after that. They said I was insane, a danger to the public. Which I suppose I was. Tiny stone room with high walls, little window, metal door. Like in the movies. Like I had anything to help me even consider breaking out. It was the worst possible punishment they could have thrown at me. Locked up like a rat, literally nothing to distract me from my guilt and fears and pain and shame.

"Rotti came back, too. I don't know how long it took. Time moved differently in that place. But there he was, offering the job again, the surgery, the clean up. I said no. I was determined to die like that, alone and afraid. It was the only way I deserved. He came back again and again, I don't know how long it was. It could have been a day. It could have been a month. But the pain in my stomach was unbearable. I was weak and horrible-looking, pale and red-and-black-rimmed eyes. And then ... I said yes. I was tired of dying slowly. I couldn't take the torture anymore.

"I don't remember much after that. Surgery, I assume, a few weeks at home. A few slow elected surgeries to begin with, and suddenly, I was doing better. I had something to distract me, and I tried so hard not to think about any of it for the longest time. Eventually I could look at pictures without crying, and Rotti gave me the old articles. I haven't read them yet." Resa felt miserable all over again, horrible for being happy when her family couldn't be anything because of her. "It's been two years."

The look on Nathan's face was indecipherable. "Please don't hate me," she whispered, burying her face in the blanket. "I do that enough for the both of us."

"Wow." Nathan let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and looked over at Resa, curled up on the couch. Over the span of a half hour, listening to her voice rise and fall in a tide of emotion over the crackling of the fire, he couldn't help but feel closer to the SurGEN. She had opened up and shared her heart to him, and he wished more than anything that he could return the favor, but his few memories were only thin and fragile spider webs. When she turned to him with huge, wet eyes shining in the firelight and asked him if he hated her, he rushed to reassure her.

"You were angry," he said, "You made a rash decision, and things happened, but I think the only thing you're guilty of is not lifting yourself of this burden sooner."

She looked up from the blanket in surprise.

"I mean, I know you made a few mistakes; we all do, and it's not something that's entirely not your fault, but... I think the guilt you've bestowed upon yourself for the last two years is punishment enough. As for treating your sister, I'm sure you only had the best intentions..." Nathan trailed off as he felt something click in his brain. All of a sudden he felt as if he was being swept off his feet and violently tossed into a hurricane of his past, memories swirling wildly before his eyes. He saw himself as if in a dream, handing a vial to a woman whose face was so beautiful and whose features were so familiar that Nathan undoubtedly knew he had woken up next to her every day for years; he had seen her eyes light up as he proposed to her on a hot, sticky day in late August, the gravel leaving impressions on his knees from where he knelt; he had held her through the night as she wept for her mother, who had died from a vicious organ disease; and he had cradled her head in his hands as she breathed her last words, heart-wrenching sobs wracking his body as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out.

"Nathan! Nathan!"

He came to, Resa shaking his shoulder and staring at him in concern.

"I killed her!" He gasped in shock and horror, "I killed my wife."

Resa bit her lip. "Oh, God, Nate..." she murmured, taking his hand as she leaned on the arm of his chair. "You - you didn't," she started. She only wanted to make him feel better, she'd read the file. The medicine he'd given his wife had conflicted with her system. She couldn't imagine that kind of guilt ... well, she kind of could, but his wife... and he had amnesia, she could make it better. So she lied. "You didn't kill her. It was ... someone else. He poisoned her in revenge. There was a file at GeneCo..." Jesus, how far in did she have to get every time? Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone? But the look on the older man's face ... she couldn't stop now. "I don't remember his name, but he died a while ago. It ... wasn't your fault, Nathan."

"What?" Nathan stared at her, the information sinking in. "But... I spent years harboring that guilt. It can't be that simple." He tried to grasp the understanding, the feeling that he had been mistaken all these years, and the realization it hadn't been his fault. He suddenly felt light. So delightfully, fantastically, dreamily light. As if he could walk on air. And he actually _smiled_, a real smile, for the first time in ages. But then he shot to his feet, making sense of her words. "Someone poisoned her? Someone at GeneCo?" He bared his teeth in rage, the delightful feeling vanishing in an instant. "Who was it? I have to find out!"

"Don't!" Resa cried, forcing him back in his chair. Even under Zydrate he could reinjure his leg easily. Just straining it again could leave him bedridden for days. The tendons were still healing. "Just, sit. Breathe for a minute," she instructed him, hand on his chest to keep him sitting. "The name doesn't matter," Resa murmured soothingly, lying through her teeth. "It'll only cause you grief. He's dead, he died painfully, and it _wasn't your fault_. There's nothing you can do; that's all you need to know. All right?"

Nathan seethed silently, his nails digging into the swede fabric on the arms of the couch. Although Resa told him the man had died, Nathan wasn't sure if he could believe her. She had shown him that she was capable of lying (heck, she was living a lie just having him here) so he knew she could manage a few deceitful words. But why would she? He looked into her face, carefully scrutinizing her expression, but Resa gazed back at him with a steadfastness and confidence that he never noticed in her before. It was possible that she was misleading him to keep him from hurting someone, but why would she want to protect a murderer? And how did she know that Nathan would do something so severe? Did she have a notion of the inky blackness that hovered on the edge of his consciousness? He hoped not. Even thinking about the thing made Nathan shiver. It must be a side effect of the zydrate; there was no other explanation.

He matched Resa's gaze. "All right." He said, trying his best to sound resigned, "I believe you."

Nathan was good at lying, at least. That was another thing that occurred to him. He hated to think it, but he must have had a lot of practice in the past.

Resa smiled in relief. "Good." She fell to a sitting position on the floor in front of him and dropped her cheek on one of his knees, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself again. "Thank you for listening," she said quietly and smiled up at him gently, but was disappointed when he didn't return it. Her smile faded and eyes flitted back down, and she repositioned her head. "I promise I'll do the same thing when I can. I wish I could tell you more about your family. I'll keep trying."

And she decided she would. She'd only read the one file that Asha had wrestled out for her. Nathan was too kind, and he'd been far too understanding. Resa hated seeing him suffer like this. If it would cost her Asha's coffee-like substance everyday for a year she'd do it. And that girl drank a lot of coffee.

"Thank you." Nathan said honestly, immediately feeling bad for suspecting Resa's motives. How could a woman so sweet tell a bold-faced lie after she basically spilled all of her deepest secrets to him only a moment before? He looked down at her, her face flushed and her eyelids heavy with sleepiness. "Come on, you should be getting to bed." He said softly. She stood up as he moved over to the fireplace and switched it off. "I know tomorrow's your day off, but it is getting late."

Resa was disappointed at his movement away, but pulled herself to her feet and yawned. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Same time tomorrow, doc?"

His brief smile showed her he appreciated the joke at least a little, and she nodded. "Well. Goodnight."

She began to turn and shuffle down the hallway, but it didn't seem right to end the night like that, leaving Nathan standing by the blank fireplace like he didn't know what to do. Chewing on her lips, she watched him for a minute.

"Nathan?" Resa asked carefully, taking a step forward.

"Hm?"

The melancholic, lost-puppy look on his face was unbearable. In a few strides she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his neck, tightly trying to convey how much she felt for him. "I really am sorry. I promise I won't rest until you know who you are again," she murmured.

Nathan at first felt uncomfortable as Resa pulled him into a hug and he froze for a second, unsure. But her embrace was so warm and genuine that he soon pulled her in closer, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her sweet scent. He closed his eyes, feeling hot tears well up behind his eyelids as he realized how utterly _lonely _he was. His wife was dead. There was no one else looking for him. He doubted if anyone else even knew or cared of his existence, besides the woman who clung softly to him now. Nathan wished she would never let go.

And then Resa moved away. The hug was brief, as hugs always are between friends, and Nathan found himself alone again in a matter of minutes.

"Night," she said gently with another smile, leaving the room for real. As soon as she was out of his line of sight, she began to cry again.

He listened as Resa padded upstairs, and then he collapsed heavily on the couch, not sure if he had chosen to do so or his legs had just given out under him. Nathan buried his head in his hands. The entire night had been so eventful. He needed time to process everything.

The wind whipped mournfully outside. He could hear the old screen door rattling on its hinges in the back of the house, as if it were a lost child crying out in the storm. Nathan resolved to fix the door tomorrow, convincing himself that it wasn't safe. It was too easy for someone to break in that way. He looked around. And the paint peeling in the house, that would most definitely have to be redone. And not to mention the holes in the walls along the stairway where pictures used to hang, they would all have to be filled in. No, this would not do. He must fix all of this, Resa would agree. How she managed to live in such a place for so long was beyond him. It was simply inexcusable. He would start tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

Resa slept. And slept. And slept. Her bed was suddenly a cloud and she never wanted to leave it. She continued to lay in it long after she'd woken up.

"SHIT!" she leaped out of bed suddenly. The sun was streaming through the window and she began to pull on clothes. She was going to lose her job today. And therefore, her life. Amber Sweet was going to kill her.

Hopping across the room and dragging on her boots, she pressed down her fluffy hair quickly with some water and shoved her glasses up her nose. Then she realized she'd probably need clothes, so she put some of them on as well over her nightgown.

"What time is it?" she shouted like a mad woman, flying down the stairs as if they were on fire.

"Four o'clock," came the reply. Resa tried to restrain her French, searching frantically around for her wristcomm. It lay innocently on the table, and she strapped it on quickly. Nathan stuck his head around a corner, looking confused and worried.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just going to die today, that's all," she said hysterically, stabbing buttons on the communicator. "Mr Largo?" she was shouting into it, moving into a different room. "Hello? Mr Largo?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"Erm, Miss Sweet hasn't been in at all, has she? It's just that I was supposed to-"

"Yes, yes. Amber couldn't get her Zydrate, and she won't settle for GeneCo's. She was a bit upset when you never came back, but I'm sure the supply room she started on fire will recover."

Resa sucked through her teeth.

"I'm so sorry ... family emergency. So am I...?"

"Fired? No. I convinced her otherwise. Just be here-a next time. You're-a lucky we like you."

Everything suddenly dropped off of her like flies. "Oh, God, thank you, Pavi," she breathed.

"I expect a face out of this," he warned, voice static-filled, but still joking. She laughed out loud, completely relieved.

"The prettiest one," Resa promised. "Thank you again!"

She threw off her lab coat and flopped onto the couch, groaning. For a moment she had actually expected to die. Thanks to Pavi Largo, his sister's bloodlust had hopefully been sustained.

Resa let out another laugh of relief and dropped an arm over her eyes. "My life at the top, ladies and gentlemen," she mumbled to no one.

Nathan smiled good-naturedly at the spectacle before him. Afterwards, he went over and perched on the edge of Resa's couch, and she lifted her arm slightly to peer out at him. "Sorry," He said with a shrug, "I thought you said you had the day off. I didn't know."

"That's okay." Resa breathed, obviously still recovering from her mini-heart attack.

"Well," Nathan got up, pulling open her curtains, "Now that you're awake, I think we should have some breakfast." He was grateful that Resa didn't ask why he was awake as well at such an early hour, but the truth was he hadn't slept at all. He had been making something.

The sun streamed onto the sheets and spilled across the carpet, warming everything with a golden hue. No signs of last night's violent storm remained, except for a few bent hedges that circled Resa's yard. Nathan was surprised she found such beautiful bushes that could flourish in so much pollution, but they must have been hybrids. At least they blocked out the obnoxious billboards.

They had omelets and artificial-growth-hormone-bacon-supplement. Nathan cracked the eggs and grated the cheese and left the pork slicing to the SurGEN. They laughed and talked over the meal like old friends, and Nathan couldn't remember a happier time. Resa told him about working at GeneCo and about her co-worker Asha.

Nathan told her about how he met his wife Marni when he ran into Rotti at a restaurant once, and how he couldn't look anywhere else but over at their table for the rest of the night. He told her about how Marni's eyes deepened to the most beautiful violet when she was laughing, which was nearly all the time. He told her about the day he found the bumps on her skin. He told her about the day Marni couldn't go outside anymore, because her lungs couldn't breathe the polluted air, and he told her all about how he angled Marni's bed so that she could see the sunrise from her window every morning and fall asleep with the sunset.

Later that day, after they finished painting the hallway, Nathan felt comfortable enough to share the something with her. He pulled a small item from his pocket, no larger than his palm, and gave it to her. Resa looked up at him questioningly.

"I carved it from a bar of soap." Nathan explained, watching her turn the delicate sculpture over in her hands. "It was all I could find. I saw a picture when I was on your computer of your sister playing with a box of kittens... I hope it wasn't too forward a gesture; I just thought maybe it would be nice for you to remember her by." Nathan said, hoping she would approve.

The tiny soap kitten had taken him all night to carve, but he was skillful with his hands and he worked quickly and precisely. The feline was posed as if it were lying on its back, its wide eyes gazing upwards as its paws batted clumsily at an invisible ball of yarn.

Resa's breath caught in her throat as she took the little soap kitten from his hands. It was so delicate it could have been real. "Th-thank you, Nate," she murmured, turning it in her fingers. "It's so ... so..."

She couldn't find the words. Instead she threw her arms around his neck happily. "Thank you."

Resa pulled away and studied the kitten. "Cats were her favorite. She was allergic, though, we could never have them around long. And you made it out of her soap."

"I'm sorry," Nathan said quickly. "I didn't know..."

"No, no!" Resa smiled, breathing in the scent. "You couldn't have known. But … it smells like her. I missed that." She beamed up at him, moving to carefully put the sculpture on Bea's shelf in the hallway. It was embarrassingly empty; just a high school diploma, a sketch, and some rocks they'd gathered to skip in the lake before Bea got so sick to walk around. Maybe Resa would fill it up more.

"What else should we do today?" she asked Nathan cheerfully, trying to distract herself from the stupid tears pooling in her eyes again.

"Well, the cracks along the stairwell need to be filled in." Nathan said, suddenly embarrassed. He wasn't good at this emotional stuff or hugging, and he was eager to change the subject. But first he decided to bring something up that had just occurred to him a moment ago. "Resa?" She stopped cleaning her paintbrush and looked at him. "I just had a great idea. Why don't I search my name on your computer? I mean, I know you don't like me touching your laptop or anything, but I thought maybe it could help me figure out if I had any family. Maybe there's an article about me somewhere, or some old records since you said I used to work at GeneCo."

Resa blanked. Her mind literally wiped itself, and she didn't know what to say. Did she tell Nathan she knew and have him be angry at her again for keeping secrets? Or let him find out for himself? Or flat-out deny his request, tell him she didn't use the internet right now or something? She was at a loss. Would it still hurt him to know who he was? Maybe it was time.

But she didn't want him to be Repo. She wanted him to stay clueless and innocent. It was his chance for a fresh start. She'd read the file. He needed one. Repo Man, dead wife, dead child, living alone for seventeen years. It wasn't exactly a great life. But it was his, she sighed resignedly, and she supposed he had a right to know. Even if he wouldn't like it at all.

Now - to let him down gently, tell him herself? Or let him search it up?

"I - I don't mind if you use my computer, you know. Just ... ask first." Resa smiled at him, hoping he didn't notice the inner battle she warred with herself. "GeneCo keeps their personnel files under constant lock and key, we can't get in under any unmarked IP. I looked around a bit and didn't find much, but you can try some news sites if you want." She shrugged weakly, hoping she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life. She decided to ready the life support system while he searched - just in case.

"Just ... take a hit of Zydrate first, all right?" she asked pleadingly. "In case you don't like what you find. I rather like this house, even as the wreck it is. I don't want to see it destroyed."

He looked at her. "Whatever I find out, I want to know with a clear head."

xxx

"Hey, man, what's your hurry?" Drench flipped his greasy blonde dreadlocks over his shoulder and approached the other adolescent, who was slinging a backpack over his shoulder.

Rat glanced at him before bending down to tighten the laces on his heavily used hiking boots. "I've got to drop off a few things before I make that housebreak."

Drench watched his friend curiously for a moment. "It's broad daylight, Rat. You have plenty of time!"

Rat cleared his throat and looked away.

"Oh no," Drench groaned, "You're _not_ planning to break in during the middle of the day again, are you? Remember what happened last time?"

His friend glared at him. "I told you, that was because little robot-leg chickened out. It wasn't my fault! Besides, I've been scouting this house for a week and nobody's home during the day. I'll have at least until six tonight before the owner gets back. It'll be easy. I'll be in and out in a second." He leaned closer to Drench as if to confide a secret. "Plus, she's a SurGEN. You know what that means? A goldmine of zydrate ripe for the picking!" He grinned as gleefully as a child on Christmas morning.

Drench couldn't help but share his delight. "That's fantastic." He said, "But at least let me come with you."

Rat glanced around. He was feircely independent, and if anyone saw him accepting help for such an easy break-in his pride would be injured. But the streets were empty, and he felt himself surprisingly grateful for the company.

"Okay then." Rat scowled, trying to look as if he had every objection to the offer. "Just keep quiet and follow me."

And then they scampered off.

xxx

"There's nothing for Nathan Williams." Nate looked up, puzzled, the laptop casting an unnatural blue glow against his features. "Some contractor in an adjacent town, a movie producer that died six years ago, but nothing about me."

He couldn't help the disappointment sinking into his voice. "I'm a nobody. There's not any news about me working at GeneCo. They completely wiped me out." He turned to Resa, who at first looked confused, and then her expression changed as something dawned on her. Just then, they heard a crash and the sound of broken glass coming from the back of the house.

Resa jumped, looking downstairs, glad for the distraction, and terrified. "What was that?" she whispered to Nathan. He shrugged.

"We should go see," he suggested. "It sounds like something broke the window."

"Kitchen," she murmured, then volunteered quickly. "I'll go. I'm lighter and I know the house, I can just peek down the stairs and see what's going on."

Before he could voice any protests she was in the hallway, inching across the wall. She stepped over the creaky floor boards and knelt on the stairs, slowly lowering herself. She'd had break-ins before, but she hadn't been home, and it had been the frail door that was kicked in. After the second one, she'd had it replaced with a heavier duty wood. How had she not considered the window? Because it had bars on it that appeared durable? They'd bend in an instant under a crowbar.

Finally she reached an angle where she could see the hall in front of her open lab through the mirror. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from any noise-making as she spotted two men wearing black, one holding a crowbar. They didn't seem to have a problem with making noise, slamming open drawers and knocking things over.  
"Where is it?" one of them asked irritably, pulling a white sheet off of a machine she was still piecing together. "This stuff's valuable, but we won't be able to get most of it out of here."

"I don't know, it's not my house!" the other one replied. _Damned straight, it's not!_ Resa thought angrily in her head. They were tearing apart her lab!

But they were being too loud about it. They must have thought the house was empty. As one of them picked up a particularly expensive, large, diamond-hardened scalpel and slipped it into his pocket, she slipped down a stair in anger. They perked up at the thump, and she scrambled to move out of view, breathing raggedly.

"What was that?" she heard distantly as they suddenly started talking in hushed voices.

"Maybe she has a cat," one suggested. "The house will be empty for another hour, it's only five-thirty."

"We should check it out."

"Don't be such a baby!"

"C'mon. We can take care of her."

There was a pause in which Resa's heart almost stopped. She started glancing around for weapons, but there was just a broom sitting against the wall, and a half-full can of paint. Nothing.

"All right, fine. You go. I'll keep looking here."

And her heart stopped. Trying to move up the stairs silently, she took one last glance in the mirror. It was the short one that strode out of the room, and he had a machete. And her scalpel.

Going as fast as she could, she tripped down the hallway, miraculously managing quietness still. She slipped into the study, breathing hard, and waved her arms at Nathan.

"There are two of them," she hissed. "I think they're looking for-"

And then the door crashed open behind them.

Nathan pushed Resa out of the way as the door burst open, smashing the wall where her head had been only a moment before. He stumbled back, looking around desperately for something to defend himself and the SurGEN, but there was nothing within reach.

A figure in black charged into the room, wielding a machete. The young man was not very tall, but he was burly. He cursed as he saw them, and lifted the crowbar up as if to strike. "Drench," he shouted, "Get in here!"

Another man rushed into the room, a crowbar in his hands. "What the hell, Rat!" The other one was taller. "You said no one would be home! What are we supposed to do?"

"Get out of my house, that's what," Resa burst at them.

"Tie them up, then," Rat said as if she hadn't spoken.

Drench handed Rat the machete as his friend tossed him a rope from his backpack. He approached the two of them, growling, "Look, we just want the zydrate. Be good and we won't hurt you."

Nathan didn't have to hear Resa's immediate protests next to him to know how important the Zydrate was to her. She would be accountable for the missing bottles, and GeneCo was not known for being forgiving. Nathan assessed the situation within a few seconds. He could tell that the two thieves, although formidable, were not expecting to have to fight. He could catch them by surprise.

The taller one with dreadlocks was within a foot of him when Nathan struck out, his fist connecting with the thief's jaw. With an enraged cry Drench found himself sprawled on the floor. He scrambled to his feet in an instant and took a wild swing at Nathan, who blocked him with an arm and delivered a blow to his stomach. The thief doubled over, cursing, and Nathan was about to finish him when he felt a bolt of pain shoot through his head. Resa screamed. He saw stars as he stumbled forward, catching a glimpse of the shorter thief out of the corner of his eye, who had whacked him with the crowbar. "Now, we're tired of playing games," He hissed. "Where's the Z?"

"Okay! I'll get you the Zydrate, just stop!" Resa shouted desperately as the two advanced, backing up against the wall. Nathan was on his hands and knees in front of her, and blood was trickling down his forehead. The wound looked nasty, and she was terrified for him.

The sword was suddenly at her back, sharp and ominous. "Get moving then," the short one instructed nastily. "Drench, you stay here. Watch that one."

"I'll be right back," she smiled at Nathan encouragingly, trying not to show how hard her heart thumped against her ribcage.

It didn't look like she was getting out of this one. What Zydrate she had she'd snuck from GeneCo for her sister and Nathan, but she had a fair amount. And she didn't want to give it up. But it wasn't worth Nathan's life.

"I-in here," she motioned to the walk-in closet beside the lab. The thief smirked.

She slid aside the painting next to the door and felt in the small rough hole for the key. The lock wouldn't open without it, and it opened the lab as well. She'd left that open for Nathan, though.

"Clever."

She fumbled with the little silver key and dropped it once, shaking fingers useless. The man in black finally took it from her, opening it himself, and then pocketing the key. Resa glared at him, but he only pushed her forward with the butt of his blade. She'd need new locks now.

She stumbled into the little room filled with cabinets and boxes and files. She kept all her expensive things in here, along with the papers she didn't want cluttering her study. Third shelf, two to the right, the blue gold was in a lockbox. There were a few vials in the lab for easy access, but her big supply was in the box. Pulling a key out of her pocket, she managed to slide it into the box and turned it. Before she could open it, however, the burly man grabbed it from her grip.

"Hey-!" she shouted, forgetting herself, and gulped as the blade was thrust to her neck.

"Move and I won't hesitate to slice," he said firmly. Resa glared as he opened the box, and his face was thrown in a vivid blue glow. She knew from his expression that the vials were more numerous than he'd expected.

"Now go!" she shouted, almost crying in frustration. So much work had gone into hoarding those bottles.

"Not quite yet," said the thief, expression overjoyed. "What other treasures do you have in this locked room?"

"Nothing else, I swear!"

Resa suddenly scrambled back on the floor as the loud noises started above her, tears and shallow breathing coming in her panic. What was happening? What the hell was he doing to Nathan? Thin sobs laced her breaths as Rat grinned.

"Looks like your friend's not doing so well, huh?" he asked, though he looked a bit nervous. Resa barely heard what he was saying, focused on blocking out the thick thuds and sickening screams. Oh God, oh God, Nathan...

Fear paralyzed her limbs. All she could do was move around anxiously, feeling sick and horrified.

"Nathan!" she whispered, fear soaking her voice as the noises stopped. Everything was horribly silent for a few moments, then heavy footsteps began to move above. She clamped a hand to her mouth, unable to stop the thick sobs and terrified expression. Nathan! It had been her job to save him, save him again and again and again, but she'd cause another person's death! And it was her best friend's.

What would they do to her next?

Hopefully it would end soon.

She curled in the corner, hand to mouth, biting hard on her fist. Sobs racked her shoulders, loud, shallow breathing that sounded like screams.

"Shut up!" the man yelled at her. But she couldn't make herself.


	10. Chapter 10

"So, were you trying to be tough?" Drench sneered, rubbing his jaw tenderly. It smarted from where he was hit, and he could tell that he would have a nasty bruise for awhile. He wanted revenge, but he was too smart to take it out on the man on the floor physically. Instead he kept his distance. Rat had tossed Drench the crowbar before he left with the woman, and now he paced around the room, whacking it against the wall angrily. It left dents in the paneling. "Tough guys never win. You got that injury to prove it. It wasn't even worth it, you know. You think it'll score points with that pretty lady?"

The man raised his head and glared at Drench through the trickling blood. "Shut up." He growled. The foul blackness was pushing at his consciousness again, throbbing with the quickened pulse in his body. "You couldn't get a woman like Resa if you were the last man alive. And I use the term 'man' loosely."

Drench laughed bitterly, smashing his weapon violently into the nearby filing cabinet. It fell to the ground with a crash, papers flying everywhere. When he approached the laptop he saw the older man get to his feet.

"You wouldn't dare." Nathan said in a voice that made the thief turn and look at him. The vile thing in his mind pulsed eagerly, lusting for blood.

"Oh wouldn't I?" Drench raised the crowbar, gleefully seeing a way to get back at the man who had injured his jaw and his pride. "You must have a lot of important files on here, huh? Not anymore!"

Nathan hesitated for a split second, racking his brain for any other alternative for what he was about to do, but none came to him. He lowered his head and let the blackness fill him. It rushed forward like water from an open damn, swirling and pulsing through his veins in rage, glorious, dangerous, bloodthirsty rage.

Drench brought the crowbar down with all his might, but it stopped inches from the smooth plastic as a hand shot out and gripped the weapon. He hadn't seen the other man move and he had hardly turned when he came face-to-face with a fist. The crowbar was ripped from his hands, and, still reeling from the blow, he was viciously smashed in the side of his head. He toppled to the floor, blood spurting from his scalp.

"I told you not to touch that!" Nathan roared. In two strides he had reached the thief, who struggled to his feet, his eyes wide in fear. Nathan felt a thrill run down his spine as he gripped the man by the collar, ramming his head against the wall. Drench shrieked and aimed a kick at the other man, landing a blow to his crotch. Nathan doubled over, releasing his grip for a split second. The thief tried to slip past him but Nathan grabbed him and slammed him against the desk. A crack split the air where Drench's head smacked the wood. "Let me go, man!" He screeched, striking out wildly. Nathan easily avoided the blows and leaned close to the man's face, reveling in his expression of pure terror.

"You're going to pay, you little worm." He growled. He backed away and raised his arm. The thief ducked the first blow, which shattered the top of the desk into splinters. He was not so lucky with the second. The crowbar cracked open his skull, spraying blood and brain matter everywhere. He crumbled to the ground, screaming and writhing on the carpet. Nathan squatted next to him, grinning widely. "Tough guys never win, remember?"

A gurgling sound escaped the man's lips through the blood.

"Oh for God's sake, shut up." He stood, positioned himself with the bar like a golfer about to take a swing, and in one fluid motion he shattered the man's skull. A gory mess of blood, brain and bone fragments exploded, splattering the room. The body twitched, once, twice, and then was still. A silent scream was frozen on the one side of the face that was still there.

Nathan stepped away from the body, wiping the mess off his face with minor disdain. One more to go.

xxx

Dust. So much dust. It filled his nostrils, his mouth, his lungs. He tried to cough, but it hurt too much. Pain shot from his ribs to his fingertips and he cringed, curling into a tighter ball. Why was he in so much pain? Where was he?  
He opened an eye groggily, and found that he was looking at an eaten-away cobblestone floor. Outside. He coughed again, and shut his eyes in pain. Shit. Had he been robbed? His Zydrate was still in his belt.

Okay. He'd been beaten up before. You weren't in his line of work without making a few enemies. 'I'm Graverobber,' he recited in his head. Even thinking was painful. What the hell happened? 'I live in Crucifixus. I steal and sell Zydrate."

At least he still knew himself this time.

He tried to move, to move anything. A finger. Good. Limb. Even better. Eventually with enough wincing he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall. It was cold on his back. He groaned, and the dust tore at his throat.  
Water. He spotted a hose-junction a few feet away, and dragged himself to it. Swallowing hurt at first, but the cool water splashing away the grime felt good.

Using a dustbin as leverage, he was able to stand. Leaning on it, he examined the damage. Not too bad. He poked at the wounds and almost cried out. All right, a little less than 'not too bad'. He'd been through worse, though.  
A huge poster was pasted to the wall opposite him. The new face of GeneCo, Amber Sweet. Of course, he thought, remembering. The thought almost made him chuckle. 'You were kinder this time, Sweet.' He knew her. She'd done this several times; thrown a fit, had him fractured and broken until he couldn't feel anymore, but never killed him. Stormed around and ordered death-on-sight, but he'd never been caught. And she always came back for the glow, just as sidling and seductive as before.

Graverobber looked at the wounds again. Stomach, leg, shoulder. He could deal with that. The trademark shallow rips of electric rifles, scorched flesh at the edges from point-blank range. Hurt like fucking hell, but liveable. The weapons were designed to slow people down, not kill them.

However, he felt broken bones. Wrist and ribs, pulled ankle. Those would take longer to heal. There was a small lump on his forehead that hurt, but didn't seem serious. Dried blood caked his face and his nose felt broken as well.  
"All in all, a pretty good night," he groaned sarcastically, inching along the alley to the garbage truck route. His thick watch told him it was six o'clock, the truck would be along soon. What day, though?

He'd find out soon enough.

Gingerly he swung onto the back of the GeneCollection truck as it passed, and tried to stay awake on the ride to Shilo's. It went through the graveyard, and he had to toss himself from the truck. Stumble. Catch himself on a tombstone. Pain.

He went through the mausoleum, which Shilo kept unlocked for him, and staggered into the house. It seemed empty, dark. Food supplement lay out on the table, uneaten and stale-looking. Shit. He knew he shouldn't leave for so long - she never ate when he did.

Everything looked the same as when he'd left. "Shilo?" he called, nearly doubling over in pain. No response. Quickly washing his face of the blood and tying together a torn cloth with ice for his head, he limped from the kitchen and through the house, searching.

"Shilo!"

More pain. No answer.

She was in the center of the living room. Shards of glass were scattered around her like a dangerous mosaic.

"Shilo, what's going on?" he asked carefully as he walked around her.

She didn't turn to face him. She was sitting, curled in a twisted ball, holding a piece of paper. Her wig was thrown across the room, and her short, still-growing hair stuck out everywhere.

"I don't exist," she murmured from the cradle of her arms. "I'm no one. I'm not real."

"You're starting to scare me," Graverobber said, boots crunching over glass as he crouched in front of her. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" Shilo suddenly lifted her head, eyes crazy and dark-rimmed. She shook the paper at him. Her voice was ragged, surreal, loud. "This piece of ancient history! The thing that's held me here for years! The thing _I_ found that _you weren't here for_! THE RECEIPT FOR MY DEATH!"

He just stared, shocked at the outburst. Shilo, looking terrifying and then exhausted, collapsed on him and began to sob. He peeled the paper from her hand. A death certificate. Shilo Wallace, 2036. According to the paper, she'd only been alive for a few minutes.

"Oh, Shilo," he muttered, gathering her in his arms. She was still small, still frail, and the cries that shook her shoulders looked painful.

"He said I was dead!" she sobbed hysterically, and it came out as a whisper. "He signed that with his own hand, destroyed me! Cut me off from the world! I don't exist!"

"Shi..."

"What do I do, Graverobber? _What the fuck do I do now?_"

For once, he was at a loss. His midsection was on fire, Shilo's frame pressing into his broken ribs painfully, but he couldn't just push her away.

"Come on," he murmured gently, pulling over the rug so she could walk out of the ring of glass. She leaned heavily on him, and he gritted his teeth and tried to cope. He couldn't make this about him, not tonight.

Graverobber helped her up the stairs to her bed, leaning heavily on the banister. She didn't seem to notice. Shilo looked different, older, completely drained. She leaned on him all the way to the huge bed, and Graverobber tried his hardest not to pass out. She'd started sleeping in her father's bed, unable to face all the monitors and medicine in her own room.

It seemed as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was dead asleep, curled in a fetal position. Graverobber rested on the edge of the bed for a second, breathing shallowly and trying to gather his strength. He took a moment to stroke Shilo's cheek protectively, pulling the thick comforter around her.

What he needed before any more thinking, however, was a bath.


	11. Chapter 11

Resa stared as she watched him enter the room, her expression changing from surprise and relief to horror as she saw that his clothes were spattered with blood. Rat followed her gaze and his eyes widened. He pointed the machete at Nathan, who glared at him with a lowered head like a bull about to charge. "Stay away," the thief warned. Rat looked around and yanked Resa to her feet by her hair, pointing the blade at her throat. "I said, stay away," he spat. Nathan stayed, his gaze faltering. He couldn't risk Resa's safety.

**Who says we're risking her safety?** a familiar, growling voice spoke up. Nathan looked around, confused for a moment, before realizing with a shock that the voice was coming from inside his own head. _Great, not only am I a murderer, I'm also insane_ he thought ironically. **Just trust me**, the voice spoke up again, sending with it a cold shiver of nostalgia. Nathan had heard it before, he was sure. "Who's there?" he cried, dread making him feel ill. **Dear, dear Nathan. Don't tell me you've forgotten about me. We were such good friends before**. Nathan gasped, feeling the darkness that now coated his blood vibrating with every syllable. Was it possible that the_ thing_ inside him had a voice?

"Are you playing games with me here?" Rat tilted his head. Nathan stared at him, uncomprehending. "I said, what did you do to Drench?"

"I…" Nathan was still reeling from the experience of having a conversation with himself. It was then that he took a closer look at the thief, and noticed for the first time the unusual carvings on the handle of his weapon. He had only seen that once before. Nathan looked into the face of the man and recognized him instantly. "You're the one from the alleyway." He recalled, "You helped me get away."

Rat squinted at him. "That was you? Well, what a coincidence." He laughed. "You get zydrate stolen from your pocket one night and your house robbed of it the next. It hasn't been a good couple days for you, has it?"

Nathan lifted up his hands in surrender. "Look, I owe you one. Leave now and I won't hurt you." **What the hell are you doing? We should be skinning him alive!** The voice sounded indignant and disappointed. "Go away!" Nathan shook his head, feeling helpless at another intrusion of the strange thing in his mind. **You weren't so eager to say that when you needed me a moment ago**, it pointed out.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rat said, mistakenly thinking Nathan was talking to him, "Until I find out what the hell you did to my friend."

"I busted his sorry brains all over the floor." The voice that came from Nathan was not his own again. It was deeper, more guttural, and it made Resa look at him with surprise. _What the hell are you doing?_ Nathan protested, but the thing only repeated, **just trust me**. It spoke out loud again, transforming Nathan's expression into an easy sneer. "It's a pity, you know. It'll take weeks to get all that blood out of the carpet."

A cry of outrage roared from deep within Rat, and his face twisted in fury. He pushed Resa out of the way and charged at Nathan, who was ready for him. Rat took a slice at the other man but the machete sliced thin air as Nathan moved out of the way. Nathan aimed a blow at Rat but the thief was quicker than he expected and dodged it, thrusting the blade into Nathan's shoulder. He cried out and stumbled back into a cabinet, agony shooting through him. Scalpels and needles littered the floor from the impact. He barely had time to duck as the thief tried to decapitate him in one swing. He scooped up a scalpel.

The thing growled as Rat came at him again. This time he moved slightly to the left, and as Rat thrust the blade he struck out with the scalpel, slicing open his wrist deeply. The thief cried out in surprise and pain as blood shot from the open wound. Nathan took the split-second opportunity to aim a blow at his face. It landed squarely on Rat's nose, and he shrieked, staggering backwards. He tried to lift the blade to attack again but the severed muscles in his wrist did not respond. His fingers fell limp and dropped the weapon.

"I'm going to enjoy this." The thing in Nathan snarled. "I always do." It shoved Rat against the wall, kicking and screaming. Nathan tilted his head, smiling evilly. "What's the matter? You're not scared I'll do the same to you as your little friend, are you?" Then Resa was at his side, grabbing his arm and begging him to stop, but he shoved her aside. He was too excited now. There was no going back.

Resa dashed out of the room, shouting something. He held up the scalpel to the youth's neck and pressed it against the sensitive thumb-sized area in the center of his collar bone. "You know what I like to do first," The thing said slowly, "I like to peel off the skin. Because it can be so agonizing, but it can keep you alive for so much longer than just simply ripping out a few organs."

Rat let out a string of curse words and spat in Nathan's face.

"I see you approve, then." Nathan said gleefully. "It's a thankless job, you know. But people like you make it all worthwhile." He trailed the scalpel down Rat's heaving chest, slicing open his clothes. As he saw the bare, sweaty skin of his victim he felt an overwhelming sense of excitement and pleasure.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rat's voice was mangled with fear and hatred, now mostly fear. He was losing a lot of blood from his wrist, and feeling slightly woozy.

"The second thing I like to do is peel off the muscles." Nathan said, as if he were teaching something to a particularly dense student. "You have to get to them quick, see, before rigor mortis does. Then it's almost impossible to make a good harvest. And then…" He split open the thief's skin from his collarbone to his belly in one shallow cut. Rat screamed. "Then, I leave the best part for last." He paused. "I take your organs."

Rat's breath had come in short, ragged breaths, but now it froze in his throat as a look of absolute terror and recognition came across him. "You're a Repo Man," he whispered.

"Nathan Williams, at your service." The thing sneered.

_No! No, this cannot be happening!_ Nathan shrieked inside his head, panic and fear and denial clouding his brain. **So did you miss me?** The foul creature asked. **There was no need to. I am always with you... In fact, I am you. **

"NO!" Resa shouted, terror taking over her senses. She grabbed Nathan's arm again, trying to pry it from the man's throat. She'd snatched a Zydrate gun and held it squarely to his inner arm. It was the only thing she could find in a hurry, and would subdue him well enough need be.

"Nathan, stop!" she ordered, and he eyed the gun.

"Why should I?" And his voice was a low, thick growl. The change in his mannerisms terrified her, and she pulled at his arm again.

"Because he'll leave, and he won't come back. _Will you?_" she addressed the shaking man. He shook his head desperately. "We don't need another death here, okay?"

Resa was surprised she was dealing with the situation so calmly. It must have been shock, because her hand barely trembled on the gun.

"There's enough Z in here to take you down in about ten seconds," she pleaded with him, tried to soothe him. "Please, Nathan..."

His face turned on her, and the murderous glare made her heart stop. The short man screamed as the scalpel pressed into his skin slowly, as if whatever Nathan had become was testing her. She panicked.

"Nathan Wallace!" she screamed, not realizing her mistake, and used all of her strength to pull his arm away. His face became twisted, different.

"Get back, Resa," he warned.

"No!"

"Get - back-!"

And he hit her. The back of his hand came in contact with her face and she fell backwards, more out of shock than the strength behind the blow. Suddenly some kind of emotion crossed his face and he blinked in surprise, staring down at her. The rage was gone.

"Shilo..."

When the thing struck Resa and watched her hit the floor, all the missing pieces came together in Nathan's head. Oh, his beautiful, sweet, innocent Shilo. His daughter. He had a daughter. The thing in his mind squirmed monstrously and it only took a well-placed mental shove to free his thoughts completely. He was himself again, covered in the blood of his victims- no, Repo's victims. That was what had been inside him.

Resa ignored him, turning to the man who stood, blank terror on his face.

"Get out of here," she spat at him. "And you'll put back everything if you value your life."

He nodded shakily, stumbling past her and out of the room. The box of Zydrate lay scattered on the floor, and to control her anger and shock she began to gather the vials again. Nathan just stood there, watching her helplessly.

He watched Resa clean up the zydrate. Some bottles had broken in the struggle, and the neon blue liquid was spreading across the white tile. He _almost_ apologized to her. That's how close he came. But instead he asked her, hurt and confused, "Did you know?"

She looked up from collecting the zydrate.

"Did you know all along who I was? That I had a daughter?" The words spilled from him now in a rush. "Did you know I slaughter people for a living? Are you insane, trying to rescue me? I could have killed you! Why did you lie? My Shilo, oh God, Shilo..." He trailed off, clutching his bloody shoulder. "I have to see her!"

"I..." Resa's face twisted in pain. More emotional than physical, although her cheek throbbed where he'd hit her. "Nathan ... you have to understand. I was going to tell you everything in due time, I swear! You were in a delicate condition!"

She winced. "I knew that you were a Repo Man. I thought I could help you, make you better! Maybe ... maybe I was hoping you'd kill me. But then you were so kind, and I started worrying about you! I found your file. At GeneCo. There wasn't really anything, but ... Shilo was your daughter, Nathan. She's dead. She died seventeen years ago, with your wife. Your signature was on the papers. I'm so, so sorry."

Resa huddled into herself against the shelves, sliding the Zydrate back into its rightful place. She was frightened he would kill her. A few weeks ago she would have welcomed it, but she was scared of dying now. She hoped whatever had happened to him wouldn't happen again, because she knew she wouldn't be able to escape it if it did.

"No ... no." Nathan moaned, a sob catching in his throat. He sank to the floor. First his wife, and then his daughter. His beautiful Shilo, dead. Both of them, probably picked over by GeneCo vultures and left in some graveyard to be dug up later by Zydrate pushers. Half of him wanted to curl up and grieve for days and the other half wanted to go violently destroy something. He didn't have to be a genius to know which half was which. No matter what side he chose, he was angry, hurt, and looking for someone to blame. The SurGEN made an easy target. He stood up and advanced on Resa, and she warily scrambled to her feet.

"This is your fault." He pointed at her. "Why couldn't you just leave me in that body bag at GeneCo? Look what you've done!" He spread his arms out, indicating the mess around them and himself. "You've brought a goddamn monster back to life. And for what?"

Resa protested but Nathan didn't feel like he was getting through to her. He needed her to understand what he was capable of. He hated himself for who he was and he possessed some morbid desire to see her look upon him with disgust. Nathan didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anyone. He was nothing, a childless empty husk, a killing machine.

He took Resa by the arm and pulled her out of the room. She was at first fearful, but she calmed down when he told her he just wanted to show her something.

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth when she saw the body. She tried to swallow back her revulsion.

"Look at me!" Nathan shouted, his voice shaking with agony, his face twisted in anguish . "Look at what you let live! I killed that man like he was a fly, and I don't regret it. I've killed countless times before." He gripped her by the shoulders and she let out an involuntary cry. "Do you understand now?" He shook her. "I am just like how you used to feel- better off dead!"

Nathan's voice buzzed in and out of her head as the horror of what she was seeing penetrated her. There was so much blood. So much flesh. Her breathing quickened and eyes widened as they flicked around the mess of a room, and she couldn't think. Resa tried to back up, but Nathan kept pushing at her back. She had to get out of there.

"What..." she whispered, shellshocked. "Nathan..."

That was her Nathan? _Her_ Nathan that did that?

She couldn't stop herself. She was going to be sick.

Roughly she turned around and shoved past him, barely making it to the washroom. When the contents of her stomach had emptied, she slumped against the bathroom wall, white and shaking as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. It was ... so horrible... Thinking about it made her heave again, but nothing came up. She sobbed, feeling overwhelmed. What had just happened? How had the situation gotten away from her so quickly? What was wrong with her patient? She could tell he was still there, just underneath, confused and in pain. But it was like there was a hard shell over him now, a shell with a terrifying growl of a voice and hands experienced in killing. No, not just experienced. He'd _enjoyed it_.

She sat there for a few minutes, silently crying and trying to cope with what she'd just seen. Nathan didn't come in after her.

It was different, she told herself. It was so different.

But was it? She'd killed her own mother in cold blood, but this was a stranger. A thief. She didn't want to think about his smashed in skull. She shook a little harder.

She thought about Nathan instead. His eyes. They'd still held compassion and pain and horror at what he'd done after he hit her. It was like he wasn't himself. He needed her. She was the only one there, the only one who could help. Maybe it was like the opposite of Stockholm Syndrome. She was falling for the monster she'd kidnapped.

But it was her fault. It was all her fault. He was right. And now she needed to fix it. She needed to talk to him.

Gathering her weak frame, Resa pulled herself up the wall and stumbled down the hallway towards the study. She wouldn't go in this time. She was a SurGEN, and was used to seeing blood and gore and death, but not like that. She couldn't handle it like that right now, knowing that Nathan did it.

"Nate..." she called down the hallway, voice wavering. "Nathan..."

He was inside.

Nathan was standing over the corpse as he listened to Resa's footsteps fade down the hallway. He hadn't gotten what he wanted- Resa had been repulsed, yes, but not at him. Just at what he had done.

He closed his eyes for a minute, pretending that when he opened them the body would be gone, the study would be back to normal, and Resa would still think the world of him. Nathan opened his eyes. The corpse hadn't disappeared. It was gazing up at him with one glassy eye, the mouth agape in a silent scream. Suddenly its hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. He shrieked, pulling away from the corpse as its eye rolled around in a bloody socket and came to rest on him. The mouth spread open in a wicked, half-toothed grin. Nathan stumbled back into the lamp, knocking it over with a crash. **Stop it.** The thing was back again, in his mind, taking control and slowing his pulse. **Stop imagining things, for God's sake. You'll scare yourself half to death. Death- haha, get it?** Nathan was in no mood for humor.

"The corpse is still alive!" he yelled, forgetting in his panic that he didn't need to speak aloud. **No, it's not.** The voice said, exasperated. **Look again.** And Nathan looked. The Repo thing was right; the corpse hadn't moved. It was as still and dead as ever. His imagination had gotten the better of him. **See?** The voice said, **stick with me and I'll take care of you. We're going to get along just fine. **Just then Nathan heard Resa's voice from outside the study.

"Can you please come out?" she asked uncertainly, trying to make her voice as soft and understanding as possible. "Nathan, please? I can't go in there again, not right now, please?"

He took a couple deep breaths to compose himself, hoping the voice in his head would stay silent so he could at least appear to be sane, and then he went out to meet her.

Resa looked ill. She had her arms crossed over herself defensively, and her gaze was distrusting, but not hateful. Nathan let out a breath and tried his best to look reassuring and contrite. He couldn't help himself- the words rushed out of him before Resa could say anything else. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what it is. I mean, I know what it is. It's the Repo thing. It's inside me. I mean, like, in my head. It wasn't me, killing that thief. Well, it was, but..." He trailed off. So much for appearing sane. Nathan sighed. "I know you don't trust me. I'll just get my stuff and leave. You won't ever have to hear about me again." He looked into her eyes, and her expression tore him apart. "I don't want that thing to hurt you." He whispered.

"I know," she murmured, sniffing. "That wasn't you in there. But ... please don't leave."

She began to cry again and Nathan just stood there, looking helpless and guilty. Resa put a hand over her mouth, feeling awful for crying again but unable to stop.

"I don't want you to leave. This is all my fault. I should have told you everything." She breathed deeply, trying to calm down enough to push the words out, words she'd wanted to tell him for days. "But ... you're my best friend, Nate. I can't make myself be afraid of you enough to let you leave like that." She shot him a watery, still disbelieving smile. "You're the only thing I have left."

Nathan let out a shuddering breath. Resa's confession tugged at his heart. She was right- he was the only thing she had, and he would be devastatingly alone without her. Nathan stepped up to Resa and gripped her by her shoulders. She looked at him with enormous, tear-filled gray eyes.

"I swear on my child's grave," Nathan said fiercely, "I won't let that Repo thing hurt you. Even if it means killing myself. It will never touch you."

Resa let out a sob. Nathan pulled her in close, wrapping himself around her and holding her tight. "I swear." He said again.

Resa couldn't help it. She let the sobs come, full and hard, pressing her face into Nathan's chest as he hugged her tightly. Every bit of stress and worry and shock and anger fueled the tears now soaking his grey tee shirt, and it felt like they'd never stop. But they did, and she let go, collapsing into a conveniently nearby armchair. Immediately she missed the warmth of the huge man's embrace and regretted her decision.

"We should clean ... the mess up," she said, automatically going to her rational defense system, curling up on the seat. "Someone's bound to have heard. If they come looking ... go wash yourself up first. I'll change."

xxx

Nathan stared hard at the man in the glass. The stranger looked like him, in some ways. The high, wide cheekbones, for example. The nose, thin and rounded as usual. The thick chin and jawline. But that man was not him. And Resa had to know that.

He reached up with one hand and pushed forward his graying hair. He'd slicked it back with water, but he had no idea why. The eyes were his again, now, but they'd been unrecognizable ten minutes before, seething with hate and rage and blood.

"Nathan?" a hesitant voice called from the hallway. "We should really get this … him … sorted out."

"Yeah – just a second," he said, straining to keep the growl from his voice, even when there was nothing left to kill.

"Are – are you okay?"

"Fine. Just a lot of blood."

He stared at his hands. Red. Red dripped freely from them, swirling down the sink in sickening crimson tendrils. The blood didn't belong to him, though he wished it had.

Resa. He couldn't believe he'd hit her. What the hell was this thing? He'd known he was doing it. He knew it was all his fault. Yet it wasn't him.

"Glad to be back," the thing suddenly went off, growling in his throat. Nathan jumped, hitting the left tap. Scalding water flooded over his hand and he leaped back with a gasp.

"Stop it," he told himself firmly, back in his own voice from the shock of the water, though he didn't know if it would do any good to command whatever this thing was. Swallowing hard, he started scrubbing at the blood that had dried into his skin.

He'd killed a man in there, and probably killed the other one too. He was a monster. Innocent blood – relatively innocent – stained his fingers.

How many others had he slaughtered? Gutted like pigs? What was wrong with him? He didn't even feel human. He was disgusting.

Resa said she still wanted him around. For how long? Until she realized what a horror he was? So much revulsion pulsed through him that he could barely stand it. He wondered what she was feeling. Her cheek had still been red where he knocked her down. A fresh surge of guilt plagued him just thinking about it.

And his daughter. His little girl he'd barely met before she was taken away. Why did he still … still feel like he had to protect her? Like he loved her? Like he … missed her. But that was impossible. He didn't even know her.

Everything was fucked up. Nathan was the lowest thing on earth. And every moment he spent around Resa was putting her in danger.

**Bitch. She deserves it.**

He didn't let the Repo thing get any farther. That woman in the hallway was the best thing that had happened to him since Marni. The best thing for him. A port in the storm. She'd saved his life.

**She lied. She's still lying. You know she's lying, you coward. I can see it, every time you look into her eyes. You can't believe a w-**

"_Shut up!_" Nathan exploded, knocking the contents of the counter onto the floor with a loud crash. He stared at the mess of glass, liquids and powders streaming onto the tile in bizarre, surreal blends of color. He breathed heavily, trying to regain control. A knock came on the door, but he wouldn't let himself react.

"…Nate? What was that?"

He couldn't. He couldn't let that thing out when she was around, or ever. He had to be the man she deserved to have around. She'd been right. He didn't have to be what he was. He could be who he needed to be. For her. For himself.

"I just … I slipped, I broke some things, I'm sorry…" he breathed, suddenly the one at the wheel again.

"Are you okay?"

He could have laughed. Was he okay?

He would be.

"I'm fine, but I should replace this stuff. Sorry."

The door creaked open and Resa poked her head in to observe the mess. She was still pale, and he winced at the blossoming purple bruise underneath her eye, waves of remorse crashing down on him all over again. But she smiled at him, a tight, hidden smile.

"Don't worry about it, I never use that stuff. We have more important things to deal with right now, anyway."

Nathan nodded and set his jaw. "I'm still … so, so sorry about that," he said again, gesturing uselessly at her face. Resa looked down, and when she caught his gaze again there was a genuine smile in hers. Small, granted, tiny, but still there.

"Mention it one more time, and I'll give you one to match," she said. He chuckled in surprise, and felt slightly better. Resa set her expression back to one of determination, and turned from the washroom. "Now, c'mon. We have a _lot_ of work to do."

xxx

"So, what should we do with him?"

Nathan and Resa stood looking over the body. Nathan held a bucket and leaned on the mop he clutched in his left hand. Resa carried a tarp. She'd taken half an hour to compose herself, and as long as she forced herself to think about how the corpse had ended up in the room, she was okay. 'He was just a thief, a Zydrate rat, he probably didn't care about anything, he deserved it…' she told herself repeatedly until she almost believed it.

"I'll dispose of him like the bodies I take home from GeneCo," Resa said, "No one will know the difference. The GeneCollectors don't even look at them until they're ready to be harvested."

"Of course," Nathan said, feeling stupid. He could always count the SurGEN to come up with a plan, no matter how obvious. "Look," he tried one last time, "I made this mess. It should be up to me to clean it up."

Resa gave him a look as if to say, '_Hello, I'm a SurGEN. I deal with this all the time.'_

"Right, then." Nathan suddenly felt awkward. "Well, we should roll him up on the tarp, I guess."

They spread the plastic canvas on the floor and rolled the body up in it, and then carried it down to leave it by Resa's garbage outside. They stood over it for a moment, looking at the makeshift coffin. Finally Nathan spoke up.

"It doesn't feel right to just leave him like this," he said. Resa agreed. "We should say something." He hesitated, unsure of what to do. He finally said simply, "I'm sure he was a good guy at some point. I do feel remorse, and I wish it hadn't come to this."

They shuffled back inside and got to cleaning, not saying much to each other, preoccupied with their thoughts. Other than a beat of excitement at smelling the blood as he scrubbed it from the floor, Nathan's Repo side stayed quiet. He was grateful for that. Although he knew it was unlikely, he couldn't help but hope that one day the voice would leave him completely and- and what? What would his life be like, ten, twenty years from now? He looked over at the woman across from him, her jaw set in determination as she worked out a particularly stubborn stain. She stuck her tongue out between her teeth, and he smiled at the comic image despite everything. Who knew, really? Anything was possible.

Resa tried her hardest to keep a professional mind while scrubbing the old hardwood floor. The rug was completely ruined; she just decided to trash it. Blood was beginning to seep between the cracks in the wood, though, and she'd have to buy a new carpet eventually to cover it.

Nathan seemed back to normal. It was easier and easier to push the frightening image of the Repo Man out of her mind with every soft-spoken word he said, every careful joke as he tried to lighten the mood, every apology for getting brains in the curtains.

"At least your laptop is okay," was the first comment he'd made. Maybe it was just everything getting to her, but she'd gone into hysterics at that point.

"I could have bought a new laptop," she wheezed, trying to stop the inane laughter. He'd smiled tentatively.  
They scrubbed for hours. Resa knew if GeneCo found one speck of blood outside her lab on their six-month inspection, she'd have her home-working license taken. She _could_ probably think of some believable lie, but it was safer this way.

"Nathan," she addressed gently, looking up at him over the bucket of suds. He looked up a little too quickly. "What was your wife like? Do you remember much about her?"

At his slightly pained look, she glanced back down quickly. "Sorry, you don't have to. I just ... you listened to me ramble on about my sister for ages. I thought I'd return the favor, since we're here anyway."

It was still a moment before he spoke again. "Yeah, I remember her. I know I talked about her a little bit already, but I didn't want to bore you anymore than necessary." He received a look from Resa and smiled. "Okay, then. It would be my pleasure. One of my favorite memories of her was the day when she picked me. We knew each other well; I made sure of that. When Rotti and I were friends, we often went to the same parties and hung around the same places. I always found a way to bump into her.

"'My, what a coincidence seeing you here again,' Marni would say, a smile playing across her lips.

"'Oh, it's more than that,' I'd say, keeping my face neutral in case Rotti was watching. 'Coincidence is the word you use when you can't see what's happening behind the scenes.'

"Marni would chuckle lightly; the sound was like music to me. 'Are you flirting with me, Nathan?' She'd say, her eyes sparkling.

"'If I was, would that be so terrible?' I'd reply."

Resa smiled, imagining a younger Nathan sweet talking a gorgeous young woman. It was easier now.

"The day she came to me was a storm in October," he continued, still looking down at the floor. "I remember because when she knocked on my door she was soaked from head to toe, but she was wearing a smile of pure joy that lighted up her face. I can still remember her voice, breathless with excitement and glee. She told me she'd broken it off, and flung her arms around me. I stuttered and stammered like an idiot, but I remember her words perfectly.

"'Rotti. He tried to set a date for the wedding; I told him I couldn't. I told him there was someone else. Someone who could make me a million times happier.' She pulled away, sliding her hands up to my face. Her hair was dripping wet, and I still can't believe how beautiful she was. 'That someone is you,' she said obviously, because I was still shellshocked. I couldn't speak, actually, I think I was just staring at her for ages. At first she took my disbelief for rejection, and she suddenly looked so disappointed. She asked if I was happy, and then everything made sense and I got my voice back. I couldn't bear to see the light fade from her eyes. I told her she'd made me the happiest man on earth, and she had."

Resa had stopped scrubbing, completely enthralled in his story. Nathan blushed to see her staring, as he realized how lost he had become in the tale as if he were reliving it, his voice rising and falling in a tide of emotion. "And... so, we got married pretty soon after that." He returned to scrubbing, feeling even the tips of his ears grow hot.

The smile fell from Resa's face as Nathan looked uncomfortable. "She sounds amazing," she murmured, glad for the happy sentiment from him instead of the tragic one she'd expected. "So that whole thing really was over a woman? I thought that was just tabloid stuff."

Suddenly the image of Nathan taking Resa in his arms in the pouring rain, and her brushing his face with her own fingers, danced through her head innocently. She suddenly sat up, face turning red.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing!" reassured Resa, quickly turning and focusing on a dark smudge so that he couldn't study her flushed cheeks. She shouldn't be thinking about this right now! Or at all! But the image wouldn't leave her mind. It stayed resolute, replaying over and over. She tried to force herself to think about what had just happened, but after the hours spent with Nathan, not Repo, she couldn't.

"So that was your whole relationship, then?" she smiled, trying to get him to talk some more to distract her. It became her whole mission not to look at him. "A bit of flirting and one kiss in the rain, and boom, you're married?"

Nathan laughed. "It wasn't quite that simple. You of all people should know, it takes a long time to get into someone's heart."

"What?" Resa looked up guiltily.

"With your sister. You said you didn't like her at first, but you grew close after a while."

"Oh." Resa looked relieved. "Yeah."

"The thing is, I know people say this all the time, but I knew. Before we even started going out, I knew. Rotti didn't talk to me a whole lot after that. Our friendship sort of fell apart. But that's okay. I would rather have had Marni anyway."

They finished scrubbing out the stains and then Resa went out to get a new carpet. Nathan wanted to come with her, but she told him it was safer not to. He could still be recognized.

When she got back and then installed the new rug, it reminded Nathan of something that happened earlier.

"Oh, by the way..." Nathan said with a sidelong glance in the SurGEN's direction. "I owe you some hamburger."

The confusion on Resa's face was evident.

"Don't even ask." Nathan smiled. "You don't want to know."

**a/n: ah the romantic things that happen while cleaning blood out of the carpet from the vicious murders recently committed on it. no no, go on you two.**


	12. Chapter 12

"That rat bastard!" Amber screamed as she stormed into her office, kicking over a chair. "I told you to make sure he never got up again!"

Her guards looked at each other, stoney-faced and not acknowledging the shouting. They'd had strict orders from Rotti not to kill anyone on his daughter's temperamental orders, because her temper when her favorite SurGEN or Zydrate dealer couldn't help her was worse than whatever had caused the killing in the first place. They'd taken that to heart and apparently chose to obey him past death, much to Amber's dismay.

"Why haven't they found him yet?" she shouted again.

"Calm down, sister," Pavi shrugged from where he lounged on the couch.

"I want him dead this time! I mean it!" Amber's voice rang through the chamber like a siren. "I want his head on my desk in an hour, or you're all fired!"

"Oh, that would make a terrible mess," tutted Pavi. "Is one little embarrassment in front of just your guards cause enough to go to war?"

"Shut the fuck up, Pavi! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Sister, please," he sighed, putting his other foot up. "You're beautiful - you know it, I know it, he obviously knows it. Just get over yourself."

Pavi had taken it upon himself to become the voice of reason for Amber since their father had died. He knew that he'd already saved the company a few times from Amber's temper tantrums, but this was a small thing compared to those. The voice couldn't have been Luigi; he got even angrier than their sister, and she never listened to him anyway. When they were kids Pavi and Amber had gotten along famously, and even after she turned into a spoiled bitch she held a soft spot for him. Well; he got less yelling than Luigi, anyway.

"It was an insult!"

"You left him lying for dead in a ditch," Pavi reminded her. "It was his own luck that saved him. Just leave him alone."

Amber stared at him for a moment, and Pavi bemoaned her gorgeous face during the pause in yelling. It was even better than the one he had gotten. He vaguely wondered if she was going to start throwing things at him again, but she finally sank into the expansive armchair, looking defeated, nodding to her guards. They left, and the room quickly emptied of Genterns.

"I just ... I didn't even need the Z this time, Pav," she murmured, looking embarrassed. "I don't even know why I went. I hate that skinny little prick so much, but I just wanted him tonight."

"So now your pride's hurt, and there's no daddy to cry to, so you're doing the job yourself." Pavi laughed, reveling in his sister's embarrassment, and she glared at him. "Just find another one. There are plenty in this city."

"Another dealer?"

"Another lay."

More glaring.

"I don't want him dead," Amber finally admitted. "I'll just get them to scare him."

"There's a girl," Pavi grinned. Despite all appearances he actually cared about his sister, not just her face.

"Don't tell me you decided to hold a meeting without me?" Luigi spread his arms, mockingly indignant as he entered. The two of them turned to him from where they had been lounging in expensive chairs. Pavi wore an expression of civil greeting, while Amber's face twisted into slight disgust as she met his gaze.

"No meeting going on here," she sniffed. "I was just talking to my brother. You know, the _nice_ one."

"Aw, come now." He pinched her cheek teasingly and she swatted his hand away. "No need to be like that. I can be nice too." Luigi turned to a Gentern scurrying by and shouted, "Where the HELL is my coffee?"

"Right away, sir!" The woman rushed off, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Idiots," Luigi sneered. "They're all idiots."

"You really should try being nicer to the Genterns," came Pavi's light voice from the sofa. "Trust me." He winked. "It's worth it."

Luigi rolled his eyes. "Yes, we all know what you do with the Genterns, brother. Who says I want your leftovers?"

His younger brother sank into an offended silence. If Luigi had any empathy at all he would have felt bad at that moment, but he was a psychopath, plain and simple- a high-functioning one, surely, but a psychopath none the less. His gaze fell on his sister, and his eyes narrowed calculatingly. "You didn't have your new nose today. You never miss a surgery…" He paused. "Unless something happened. Did you murder your surgeon? No, I would have heard about that before now. Then what was it?"

His sister glared at him but did not provide an answer.

Luigi's eyes widened. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "It wasn't a lack of surgeon, but a lack of numbness. Your zydrate supply has trickled to a stop. Did you kill your supplier?"

"Tried to," Amber spat, glaring at the door her guards had just exited. "Slippery bastard got away again."

Pavi grinned from his seat, although it could have been a grimace. The face made it hard to tell. He knew that she'd never have made the confession she just had to Luigi, and he decided to keep quiet about it for now. "Let it go, Amber. It's good; you need to get the Zydrate somehow, since you're so prissy about GeneCo's."

"It's not the same! There's almost a ... rush to the street Z." Suddenly she looked dreamy again. "Legal Zydrate is just so boring. Nothing extra."

"Like street faces," Pavi suggested. She glared at him and his smile fell off.

xxx

"Graverobber?" came the tentative voice as he shook himself awake. He sucked in a hard breath as he felt fire in his injuries like never before. He couldn't move. Shit, he'd fallen asleep. And Shilo was awake.

"Yeah, kid?" he managed without passing out again. He should have seen this coming. He hadn't even gotten the television on before he'd dropped dead.

"I - thanks for bringing me to bed," she said softly. "Sorry I kind of freaked out. It's not your fault. It was just..."

"Unexpected?"

"Yeah."

Shilo stood like she was waiting for him to move over. He prepared himself, then pulled into a sitting position. It was a bloody miracle he managed not to scream.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he groaned the lie. "Hungover."

She exhaled a breath of laughter and looked down at her knees. "It's so unfair."

"What is?"

"Everything."

He chuckled. "Welcome to real life. You're not caged up anymore, little bird. Now you have to actually worry about cats." She'd left her wig upstairs, he noticed. She was self-conscious about her super-short, dark hair, but he liked it. It was a little curly, but stuck out everywhere and made him think of wild grass.

She smiled up at him with a turn of her head, and his heart skipped a beat from the unadulterated innocence and trust that shone out. For some reason, that look made him feel guilty. "But I have my big strong raven to protect me."

He groaned and laughed, holding his ribs as they flared. "This is so cheesy I'm going to be sick."

Shilo smiled again to herself, turning away. With an effort, he lifted his arm to rub her back comfortingly. She looked back to smile bravely at him, but gasped halfway through and jumped up.

"Oh my God! What happened?" she demanded, pointing at his bloody, scorched shirt. Fuck. The movement must've lifted his jacket away.

"Nothing, just a run-in with some GENforcers," he grinned, covering up quickly and trying to make it seem like a joke. "It's nothing, kid, don't worry about it."

"That doesn't look like nothing!"

"Honestly, I'm fine. I've had worse." When her worried look didn't improve, he chuckled. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'm going to see Heron later, she'll take good care of me."

"You are _not_ leaving like that," she told him, flat out. "You're going to get in a real bed and rest."

"I'm fine," he protested. "I just need some neutralizing cream and some electrotherapy. Heron can take care of it in a minute."

Shilo looked thoughtful. "We have neutralizing cream. And ... and dad had loads of equipment. You shouldn't be walking around."

"It's just a sprained ankle," he protested, and she gave him comprehensive eyes.

"What _else_ is wrong?"

Shit. "Just the ankle, Shi, don't be such a worry-wart." How he managed to keep a pleasant face while his whole body was throbbing remained nothing short of a miracle. "Are you going to let me go?"

"If I don't?"

"I'll leave anyway."

"You won't," she said firmly. "I'm locking the mausoleum if you do. And I'll throw away the key so you can't come back, not ever."

"You know I can just find it again in the garbage," he told her with a tight grimace."

"When I throw it in the ocean?" she asked sternly.

They stared at each other, locked in eye combat, until he finally sighed. He was in too much pain to argue. "Which bed?"

xxx

They finished the room in a few hours, and it actually looked no worse for wear. Resa, however, couldn't look outside without seeing the body until the GeneCollectors came, and a bit of nausea still swept her when she thought about it.

Nathan seemed to be doing all right without the bed rest, though, which was great. "You haven't had a hit of Zydrate for hours now," she remarked casually as they left the clean study so she could work on the lab. Even though he was a doctor, she wouldn't let him touch any of her things. It wasn't a trust issue, just a normal obsessive-compulsive issue. She wouldn't have let even Lauren the doctor touch it. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"Not really," Nathan lied, following Resa into her lab. The truth was that his leg was in agony but he was trying to ignore the pain and trying to build up a tolerance. Ever since the Repo thing formally introduced itself, he had sworn not to compromise his mental control. The experience of having something else command his body was horrifying, and he didn't want to give it any more chances then necessary to slip past his defenses. Nathan thought that if he refrained from drugs or alcohol, maybe he could keep the thing at bay.

He watched Risa take inventory of her zydrate, accounting for the few broken bottles that had burst in the struggle, skilled fingers working quickly and confidently. He couldn't risk her safety just because he was a little sore.

She made Nathan get back into bed as she picked up the instruments that had been knocked over and put almost everything back. One of the machines had been jostled and the wires unplugged, but that was the worst damage done. The only thing missing was the drip bag of diluted Z, but she hadn't expected that to be put back. When she offered a new drip to Nathan again, however, he declined with a reassuring smile.

"You must be feeling a lot better," she commented. "You're healing nicely, anyway. And the stolen lung held up outside, that's good. Any discomfort?"

He shook his head. "Hungry, then?"

That got a hesitant nod. She grinned and left to make them dinner.

xxx

"Oh my God!"

Graverobber winced at Shilo's horror.

"Shit, Graverobber! what did you do?"

"Nothing," he groaned. The bandages were sticking to the wounds and it wasn't exactly comfortable. "Stop pulling so hard."

"Sorry," Shilo murmured, using water to loosen the bandages. He didn't tell her that that only sparked and hurt even more. He looked down at his bare skin. It did look pretty bad - it normally did, but the bruises and cuts and scorches didn't help.

"How're your ribs?" she asked as she concentrated on scraping cream over the sides of the electric welts, tongue sticking out between her teeth. He smiled fondly at her, a mixture of distraction and pain making him forget to answer. She looked up. "Graves?"

"Oh, fine. Better. Whatever you gave me helped."

She nodded and looked down again. "It's not as good as Z, but it'll work." Her fingers brushed the cut and he winced. "Sorry!"

"Just around it, kid," he told her. She nodded and kept working.

"Are you sure you don't want any Zydrate? I bet I could..."

"No," he said firmly. "I never touch the stuff. Ever."

"I know, sorry. It's just ... this must hurt. A lot."

He laughed, sending spikes of pain down his sides. "Yeah. It does." Graverobber waited for the pain to dissipate some and leaned back, wondering what to do with his hands. He settled on peeling away the last bandage on his chest. He'd saved it because it was deeper and he knew it would cause more tearing pain than the others.

"How did this happen?" Shilo asked again, and Graverobber finally gave in.

"Amber's cronies," he replied shortly. "No money. Again."

He couldn't stop watching her hands. They worked so delicately, brushed the ointment precisely with light fingertips.

"Didn't use sex this time?" Shilo asked, and the phrasing was so blunt that Graverobber stared at her and snorted.

"She tried," he said, studying her expression. Her tone was cool and casual, eyes focused on her task. She laughed.

"Tried?"

"Yeah. I told her to get lost, and she told me to die. Same old."

Shilo's eyes flicked up at him, holding questions. "You didn't ... do it?"

He tried not to laugh at her uncomfortable, naïve look and shrugged. "I was tired, I needed cash."

He was making excuses. Why _had_ he turned her down? It certainly wasn't worth all this. And now there'd probably be warrants out for his ass. He could dodge a few GENforcers, no problem, but it would make his normal selling places tough for a while.

"Oh," was all that Shilo said. She was playing casual, but he could see her ears turning red even when the tips were hidden beneath the slightly shaggy hair. Hobbit hair, he'd started calling it in his head when Shilo gave him Lord of the Rings to read. Classics were rare, but her father had had quite a sophisticated collection, mostly from being passed down. A large portion of Shilo's favorites were battered hardcovers bound in the late 2010s, but written much, much earlier.

"Disgusting," Graverobber had said when she first handed him the pile, and the smell of dust and old paper reached his nose. He hated books. She'd laughed.

"Just try one. You can't just watch that trash on TV all the time, it's not good for you."

"I'll never pick one up," he'd vowed. But the pile had been gone from the table the next night, even though he refused to acknowledge reading them.

"Graverobber?" Shilo interrupted his thoughts.

"Yeah, kid?"

She looked like she had a lot to get off her chest. She had for a while.

"Why didn't ... how come you've never asked me about my dad or anything?"

He wanted to squeeze her hand, but they were both decidedly busy. "I didn't want to rush you. I knew you'd tell me eventually."

Shilo smiled briefly. "Oh. I just ... I thought you just didn't care."

Graverobber wanted to laugh out loud, but considered the pain and decided not to. "Would I be here if I didn't?" he asked obviously.

"I suppose not," she admitted. "You do eat a lot of my food, though."

"Food that I buy!"

"With my money!"

He gave up. "Touche." He stretched out his leg, trying at the bandages on his chest again.

"And Graves?" she said again.

"Mm?"

"Does Amber ever ask about me?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, I don't _want_ her to think about me, I just know she's seen us together a few times. I dunno if she's ever made the connection or anything ... I just don't want to be a target. I don't ever want GeneCo."

He smiled reassuringly at her and brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You won't be, kitten, don't worry. Amber's happy on her throne." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headboard. "No one'll ever think twice about you."

Shilo smiled, looking relieved. "That's good," she said. "I'd rather just sink into the background. No questions asked."


	13. Chapter 13

"No, you're doing it wrong. You've got to roll the number on your playing card, and if you don't get it you have to collect the difference in more cards. Whoever has the least cards after five rolls wins."

Trish sighed. "This is too complicated. Can't we play something else?"

Zaire's face fell. She was so eager to show her friend the game she had invented that she didn't account for Trish's short attention span. "It's fun, I promise!"

Trish sat back against the wall, the silver hoops hanging from her ears jangling. She had stolen them last week from a jeweler and was so proud of them. "I think your idea of fun and my idea of fun are two different things," she said gently.

The two of them were in their usual hangout when it was raining- an empty and looted barber shop. Apparently it had been a popular place before radiation poisoning killed the owner. No citizens came around it now, even though the radiation plant (GeneCo had used it as an experimental lab for generating blood cells- there was no surprise when it didn't work.) had been torn down ages ago. They sat on the floor, since even the barber chairs had been carried away.

Zaire wasn't used to having Trish to herself. Their entire group usually consisted of them, Rat, Drench, Leah (an old friend of Trish's), and Jack, who had been around longer than anyone could remember. If they had a question about something or needed advice, they would go to him. He would eye them, puffing slowly on his cigarette, before offering a few fatherly words of wisdom. Most of the time no one could understand what he was saying since half his tongue was missing, but it just helped to have him around anyway because he emitted a sense of lazy comfort. However, today was Sunday, which meant he was probably begging near the cathedral with Leah in tow. Her big brown eyes always managed to tug the heartstrings of even the toughest passerby. Graverobber would sometimes join the group too, of course, when he was feeling sociable.

"Where are Drench and Rat?" Zaire asked for the millionth time. "They're going to miss out if Jack returns with food before they get back."

Trish sighed. "I don't know. Probably looting somewhere. You don't need to worry; they can take care of themselves."

They grew quiet for a moment. Then Trish glanced over at Zaire casually. "You know," she said, "You never told me what happened to you. I have to admit I'm curious."

Zaire stared at the ground, tucking her metal leg behind her self-consciously. "Trust me, it's not that exciting."

"I'd still like to know. If you wouldn't mind telling me."

Zaire looked up at the older girl. Trish was the closest thing she had to a mother right now, and she deserved the truth.

"Well, I-"

Just then the door burst open with a crash. They shot to their feet, and Trish pulled out a carving knife from her boot instinctively. The figure at the door stumbled in, drenched with mud and rain.

Zaire gasped. It was Rat.

The man sunk to the floor, his face white as a sheet, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"My God, Rat." Trish crossed the room to him, sucking in a breath as she noticed the blood streaking his face. "What happened to you?"

The man provided no answer, but clutched his stomach tighter.

"Let me see." She pulled his hands away, her eyes widening in alarm as she saw the bloody gash. "We've got to get help," she cried. "Zaire!"

The younger girl scurried over, eager to be useful but her face paling at the sight of the wound.

"Go and get Heron. Quickly!"

She hesitated for only a second before dashing out into the rain, her heart pounding.

xxx

Rat yelped as the first sting of the needle went through his flesh. Heron glared.

"Don't be such a baby," she told him. "It doesn't even hurt."

She'd come running when Zaire crashed into the abandoned flat above the bar where she worked, screaming about blood everywhere and Rat dying in the barbershop. But the guy had barely been nicked. A few stitches, cauterization and some whiskey and he'd be right as rain.

But he couldn't stop blabbering and stammering. It was unintelligible drabble. Something about a Repo Man and a surGEN, and he kept saying Drench's name, brains, and Zydrate.

"Oh, hush," Heron finally told him, giving him a bottle of gin. She pushed her dreadlocks back again, firmly tying them. The rubber band kept breaking, so it was filled with knots. She refused to throw it out and get a new one.

"Is he going to be all right, Heron?" Trish asked quietly, watching on the sidelines. Heron laughed.

"I've made men walk again, and you make me run down here for this?" she said, shaking her head. "Yeah, he'll be fine. Just get him drunk for now and he should start talking when he sobers up. Now, I've got a man open on the table at the base waiting for me, thanks to you, Zaire, so I need to go."

Heron donned her gloves again and jacket and nodded farewell to them. "Come see me later, let me know how he's doing. He's in shock so he might not talk for a while. Just a warning. The booze should loosen him up some, though."

"Thanks, Heron," Trish called after her, almost as an afterthought. Heron ignored the sentiment and kept walking, cane clicking on the empty tile. At fifty-eight, she was too old to still be doing this shit. Taking care of thieves and bandits, running around to save one measly, worthless skin. She could still be working on expensive hides, for something substantial instead of a few bottles of alcohol once in a while.

Whatever. She was too old to start doing anything worthwhile. She'd stick to Z junkies and thieves until she died, she supposed.

Heron shifted the belt of instruments that settled on her heavy hips and tried to walk faster. Her bad leg was acting up though, and she had to keep stopping to adjust the worn boot over it. She'd get Zaire to try and steal her new ones the next time she saw her.

That child was nothing but trouble. But she was never really accepted by most of the thieves, because at heart she wasn't really one of them. Maybe that's why Heron liked her so much. That, and she brought tea and food whenever she stopped by. Every time she did, Heron would shout at her that she wasn't that old, she could manage herself, to stop coddling her, etcetera. But Zaire reminded her of her runaway daughter, and relatively she hadn't hated her daughter too much. Especially when the brat was young and stupid.

When Heron left, she handed Trish a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some rags, grumbling about how she was too busy to clean minor scrapes and cuts. Trish pressed a soaked rag to the gash on his chest now, with Rat wincing in pain and mumbling Russian, his first language, incoherently under his breath. Zaire held a rag to the cauterization on the man's wrist, her stomach in knots. Even though Rat didn't like her (Trish said it was because he never mixed well with newcomers) she couldn't help feeling distressed and very much worried for him. Suddenly she was struck with a horrible thought.

"Where's Drench?" she gasped. Trish turned to her, and they shared a look of fear as something occurred to them both at the same time. "Do you think he's-"

"No, he's fine," Trish said too quickly.

Rat has his eyes squeezed shut but he opened them at the mention of his friend's name. "Drench!" he hiccupped.

"We'll find him," Trish said soothingly.

A knock- two quick thumps followed by a longer one- tore their attention away from the injured man. "I'll get it." Trish stood up. "It must be Jack."

Zaire stood huddled on the tile, pressing the rag into Rat's wound. It didn't look good – three of the fingers had turned purple from lack of circulation, and the cut had nearly slashed through half of his wrist. She doubted if he would be using his right hand again anytime soon. "What could have done this to you?" she murmured softy.

Rat suddenly shot up and gripped her arm, so suddenly that she had to bite back a frightened cry. His eyes were as large as saucers in his sweaty face. "It's him…" he winced, in agony.

"What?" Zaire gasped.

Rat stared at her. "He's alive. The Repo Man's alive."

"What?" asked Trish, leading Jack back to where Rat lay on the counter. "There are plenty of Repos, Rat, what are you…"

And then it dawned on her. "_The_ Repo Man? It was _him_?, Rat?"

Rat only coughed, holding his cauterized wrist to his stomach. Trish took a few steps backwards and Jack held her shoulders in case she collapsed.

The thieves were able to dodge most Repo Men. Yeah, there were some times. But overall they'd done extremely well. Not when the lit-helmet Repo was sent, no. You were dead where you stood. He was the most skilled, the fastest, the most intelligent. The only one that actually intimidated Trish, or any of the bandits, without a glimpse of him. The only one who could find you no matter what, no matter where you hid or where you ran.

The night at the opera, he'd been killed. Hadn't he? His name was completely covered up, part of the job, and the only ones who knew who he was now were GeneCo employees, but he'd been wearing the Repo insignia on his leather jacket. If he was back...

"Damn it," muttered Trish, spinning on Jack. "Look, I know you just got here, but you need to round everyone up. Tell them to go into hiding. Tell them bright-eyes is back."

He nodded and swiftly left. He knew the implications of what she was suggesting.

Trish turned back to the surface where Rat still lay, looking grim and white-faced. Zaire looked at her, question in her eyes. That's right. The kid hadn't been around when the helmet was. She didn't even know.

Zaire had never seen Trish so shaken. She looked as if she were about to faint. Zaire grasped her arm. "What is it?" she asked in dread.

Trish stared at her, as if she were contemplating something. Finally she spoke. "It's nothing to worry about. Just an old enemy. We're going to have to be more careful from now on," she said decisively.

Zaire protested because she knew Trish wasn't telling the whole truth, but her friend was tight-lipped.

"Fine!" she finally huffed. "If you won't tell me then I'll find someone who will!" And she dashed out of the barber shop before Trish could stop her.

It was still raining outside, and her prosthetic leg landed in a puddle of mud on her way down the road. Zaire cursed. The damn thing was impossible to clean.

The sculpted metal had been a gift from her parents. She could still remember when it was gloriously shiny and gleaming with newness and possibility. Now after only a month on the street, her prosthetic had become depressingly scratched, dented, and faded, much like herself.

Zaire never wanted the expensive gift. It was beautiful, without a doubt, but it was nothing compared to having her leg back again. Her parents blamed themselves for her loss, and, because it was the only thing they knew how to do, they tried to buy her back a normal life.

Needless to say it didn't work. She still felt like a freak every time she caught a glimpse of herself in store windows, half-tin, rusted and deformed, like the monster in a fairy tale she had read as a child.

Zaire rounded the corner, stopping in front of an old gas station. The light on the sign flickered half-heartily and buzzed in the polluted air. Her heart pounded from running, and she hesitated only a moment before stepping inside.

The station was empty, but there was an unsettling noise coming from a back room somewhere, like the dry slither of a snake. A shiver ran down Zaire's spine. She grabbed the first item on the counter top and dashed out.

Trish had told her once that since surgical breakthroughs in modern medicine made it possible to do almost anything, there were people - if you could call them that - in Crucifixus that didn't look human anymore. They had so many surgeries, so many changes to everything from their height to their ethnicity, that they ended up as warped, twisted shells of former beauty. These were the things that haunted Zaire's nightmares.

She ran through the streets again, her ears straining for any cries of "Stop, thief!" But none came. She looked down at what she had stolen. It was a box of condoms. She tossed it into the gutter.

Zaire soon arrived at her destination, and knocked furiously on the door. There was a thump from inside, and a loud mutter, and then the door opened. A scarred face surrounded by dreadlocks peered out at her.

"Rat's okay," Zaire said quickly. "I just had a couple questions." She showed the woman her empty hands apologetically. "Sorry, I forgot to bring food this time. Unless you eat condoms."

Heron snorted. "You better make it quick, kid. I'm in the middle of a surgery."

The room was tiny and smelled funny, but it was clean enough. The table was wiped with a rag, anyway, and that seemed to be enough for Heron. The older lady of oriental origin used to be a Gentern, though no one believed her when she told them that. Years of working on a bad leg and hiding from Repos and eating nothing but scraps laid layers on her hips and thighs, and almost nothing remained of her "sexy" years. Well, except her eyes. No matter how bitter and cynical and bossy and plain mean Heron acted, she had smiling eyes. How the hell was she supposed to intimidate people? It was impossible to get anything done with such jolly eyes, she thought whenever she scornfully mourned her reflection. Her mother hadn't had smiling eyes, and neither had her father, and somehow she, the person who needed it the least ever, had rolled two big fat grinning eyes. She hated them.

"Well," Heron grunted, making her way across the room and picking up the scalpel again. She blew a hair off of it and continued to fix up the heart of the man in front of her. "This fellow's gonna wake up in hell in a minute, so I've got to finish up while we talk. What do you want?"

The black girl had the same uncomfortable look she always had when she was put on the spot, especially in the cramped, foreboding quarters of the thief med base. She was pretty enough, Heron supposed. Big brown eyes and a nice heart-shaped face, but a funny nose. And that hideous leg. The poor girl was lucky it hadn't been stolen though; it looked expensive. Heron couldn't really say anything about the hair, which hung off her head like a short black mop, because her own was twisted and matted and gnarled into something resembling dreadlocks.

"Well, do you need a notice or something?" Heron grumbled, bending over the mess of arteries and muscles. "What happened to Rat?"

Zaire was led inside, and breathed in the homey, spiced scent of Heron's apartment. It was almost a pleasant odor, except for the whiff of hospital smell that accompanied any sterile surgical environment. However. as she watched Heron blow on the knife, she wondered how true the "sterile" part actually was.

She had to give the woman credit, though. Even if Heron didn't like to admit it, she was soft at heart. Any creature that came hobbling to her door she would take in, although never without the grudging attitude she knew people expected. Regardless of her compassion, Heron was still the toughest person Zaire knew. She was at first intimidated by the robust, no-nonsense Asian-American, but things had changed as they got to know each other more. Zaire liked her company. Heron treated her differently than the other thieves, and Zaire liked the reinforcement it gave her. If she ever woke up one day and forgot who she was (it was easy to when constantly scurrying through the damp streets, ears listening and eyes twitching like a sewer rat) then she could count on Heron to remind her.

Zaire preferred to stand away from the patient so she didn't have to see or smell the blood. It made her dizzy and sometimes physically ill. It reminded her of the accident.

"Rat's doing okay," Zaire told the woman as she bent over another patient. "But I'm not sure if he'll be able to use some of his fingers again. They're purple."

Heron muttered something about keeping the hand below the heart so the blood could circulate easier.

"Yes, well." Zaire caught a glimpse of the open wound, and she swallowed, turning away. "That's not why I came. I have some questions. When Rat actually started talking coherently, he told me the Repo Man was back."

"Repo Man?" Heron echoed distractedly, though her heart skipped at just the word. She'd been ducking the scalpel for almost seventeen years, ever since she stopped paying for her corneas. "Nothing special, chick, easily avoidable." She chuckled, flipping the skin closed over her work and beginning to stitch him up. "Just like Rat to get in a tussle with Repos, though. Probably tried to take the wrong man's Z again."

Zaire still looked unsure, and Heron frowned at her, finishing quickly and dropping into an armchair that was falling apart. Her leg throbbed uncomfortably, and she picked up her white mug of stolen tea. "What exactly did he say?" she asked. "Exact words."

The girl looked like she was trying to remember and struggling. "I'm not sure what it means," she finally admitted. "He just said, 'The Repo Man's alive.' And then Trish went all white, and she told Jack to tell everyone that he was back."

"Who?" Heron was beginning to worry. "Who's back, Zaire?"

"She just said, 'Is it _him_?' ...And I think she told Jack 'bright-eyes'."

With a clatter, Heron's cup fell to the ground. Lukewarm tea splashed over the toes of her boots as she leaped up with surprising agility.

"Oh, God," she muttered, moving to the windows with no clear idea why. She ripped the moth-eaten drapes closed and locked the door, though that wouldn't help anything. "Oh, _fuck_."

Heron didn't know what to do. Bright-eyes ... and Trish had been terrified. It _must_ be him. And the street-rats were all dead men walking if GeneCo had him back. She began to limp around the room, trying to seem busy to calm herself. It wasn't working.

She could feel Zaire's eyes on her back and took a shuddering breath, beginning to attend to the man on her slab. She just messed with the drip and pressed a few buttons; her hands were shaking too much to do anything for real.

Repo…

"What? What's wrong?" Zaire asked, her stomach beginning to fill with a heavy dread. If even Heron was frightened, then this Repo Man must be terrifying. Heron ignored her questions, but even Zaire could see the old woman's hands tremble from across the room. Everyone knew something she didn't, and it was beginning to wear on her nerves. "For God's sake, Heron!" she cried. She wanted to kick something, but she respected Heron too much to take out her frustrations on the woman's furniture. "Tell me, or I'll go find a GENforcer and ask _him._"

Heron turned and stared at her incredulously. "You wouldn't."

Zaire matched the woman's gaze with her own. "Do you really want to find out?"

Heron tried to overpower the challenging stare, but she was too shaken with the news. She sank back into the armchair, defeated, and waved a hand for Zaire to sit, too.

"I don't know much about him," Heron lied, but it was convincing. She tried to order her explanation, but it was jumbled. "I hid in a sewer for ages because of him. He's the most ... passionate Repo you can find, period. He doesn't rest. He searched for me for a whole two months, and when I got out I had to change everything about myself. He doesn't forget."

She sighed. "He's the cruelest, least sympathetic. The most talented. And the most frightening. He's good at his job because he _enjoys_ it. Sure, Rotti blackmailed him into it - most Repos are blackmailed - but he filled the role completely after a while. Rotti was especially impassioned that he get me. I used to be a Gentern, you know - oh, I've told you that. Anyway. I know he never stopped for sixteen years. Every so often I'd get word that he was coming round the area and I'd have to hide again, because I knew if he saw me he'd recognize me. His job just ... takes over him."

Heron was beginning to sweat. Her leg was seizing up from the stress. She took a shaky swig of painkiller-laced water, and was grateful for the calming effect.

"You'll be lucky to never run into him," Heron told Zaire. "You probably wouldn't have a problem unless you made him angry, but it's better to never meet that monster. This is gonna sound cheesy, but heed it; avoid the masked Repo like the plague, kid."

Zaire gulped. The dread she was feeling intensified. Could this Repo character, which seemed like the stuff of nightmares, actually be real and prowling the streets? She moved to the window and glanced out, but the streets looked the same as they always did: dirty and unkempt, although not any more dangerous than usual. But darkness was approaching, and the shadows seemed slightly sinister; whether that was real or only in her imagination Zaire couldn't tell. And she didn't want to wait to find out.

"I should go before it gets dark." She turned to her friend, and instantly felt bad that she had spoken. Heron was wearily slumped in her chair, looking scared and alone. When the older woman caught her looking, she frowned.

"Well, go on then," she said, adopting a tone of gruff indifference. "And don't be stupid; stick to the Safe Route."

The Safe Route was what the thieves called the few connecting suburb alleys where GENforcers didn't patrol.

"For sure." Zaire tried to smile confidently, but it wavered. "I'll come back to see you again soon."

Heron was up and fussing with her patient's drip again, and she waved Zaire off distractedly.

Before long she was hurrying through the darkening streets. A cool breeze sent a chill down her neck, and Zaire shivered involuntarily as she slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves. It had stopped raining at least, but now it was too quiet. Eerily quiet. She crossed to the other side of the street before passing the gas station she had entered before.

"You're overreacting." Zaire scolded herself. "Stop being such a baby."

The wind nipped at her neck, and she wished she had an overcoat so she could pull the collar up as she walked under the streetlights, like a man once did in an old song. What was it called again? The Sound of Silence, or something.

The night air carried with it the sharp smell of a junkyard from nearby. Dogs barked somewhere in the distance, and her sneakers scraped the cement as she walked. Something struck Zaire as odd at that moment and she looked up.

The streets were empty and unfamiliar. With a throb of fear Zaire realized that she had wandered outside of the Safe Route. Her eyes widened in fear.

"Damn it!" She began to talk to herself again to keep the fear at bay. "You'll be okay, girl. You're not that far away. It'll be fine." She began to walk faster, cutting through alleyways to get back sooner. Her heart nearly stopped as she heard footsteps crunch on the alleyway behind her.. She spun around, but no one was there. She broke out into a run, dashing blindly between buildings. Something was behind her, she was sure of it.

Zaire darted through the darkening streets, panting for breath. The thing behind her wasn't slowing down. She glanced over her shoulder to see a menacingly tall figure clad in black, haloed by the glare of streetlights. The Repo Man. He was getting closer, and when he caught her he would snap her ribs like a toothpick and tear out her heart.

Zaire rounded a corner sharply and her metal leg slipped on the wet pavement. She fell to her knees for a split second before scrambling to her feet again and coming face-to-face with a barb-wire fence. It encircled an enormous black structure with windows bulging out of its vast sides like the eyes of a spider. It towered above her, sleek and modern and alien. At the top of the skyscraper, "GENECO" flashed in proud, incandescent letters.

"Dirty thief," a voice spat from behind her.

She spun around, a scream on her lips when he smacked her. The impact made her fall to the pavement. _This is it,_ she thought, her brain clouding with terror. _He's going to kill me._ The Repo Man hovered above her, blocking the harsh flickering light of the GeneCo building.

"What did you take?" he hissed. The Repo Man's voice was not deep and guttural like Zaire expected, but rather thin and nasal. It didn't make him any less terrifying, however.

"Why do you care?" she said, flabbergasted at how steady her voice was in the face of death. "Aren't you going to take all my organs anyway?"

The figure wore a mask, but Zaire could hear the confusion in his words as he answered her. "Take your organs?"

"You must be the Repo Man," Zaire said, his uncertainty giving her courage. "You're the one they called bright-eyes... aren't you?"

The figure had been standing over her, but as she mentioned bright-eyes he grasped her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. As he did so, Zaire got a closer look at his uniform, and her legs grew weak in relief. This was not the Repo Man. He wore the dark uniform of a GENforcer, and, although dangerous, he wasn't likely to kill her.

His next words were slow and he emphasized every syllable. "What did you say?"

"Bright-eyes."

The GENforcer shifted his stance. "That Repo Man has been dead for a month."

Zaire didn't say anything for a moment, thoughts and questions racing through her head. He wasn't dead, though. Rat had seen him with his own eyes. He had nearly died at that monster's hands. How did GeneCo not know this? Was it possible that the Repo Man had gone rogue? She stared at the GENforcer, an idea forming in her head. "I think you'd better let me see the Largos," she said carefully.


	14. Chapter 14

Nathan didn't know what he was doing outside so late. He couldn't remember leaving the house and yet here he was, stumbling through the streets like a drunkard. He didn't know how long he had been out, but it was very dark. There were no lights on in the houses he passed, and even the stars above him were hiding behind fat, sluggish clouds. The moon hung low in the sky; yellow, bony, and stained, like a homeless man's teeth.

Two figures were approaching out of the darkness, and Nathan squinted to try and make out their faces. The first figure, running for his life, looked too small to be an adult, and Nathan's breath caught in his throat as he saw the figure's expression. It was pure terror.

The person that followed the other with long, determined strides was clad in some sort of black leather suit, and he wore a mask that shrouded his head in the same material with only a space for his eyes. Those eyes were narrowed in a predatory gaze as he raced after his victim, his long legs reducing the distance between the two of them with every stride.

Nathan instinctively scrambled behind a garbage bin as they got closer, ducking down. He knew he should approach them; he should try to stop them before some serious violence broke out, but his legs wouldn't listen. They were frozen in place.

Just as the two figures passed, the tall one reached out and shoved his victim, who hit the pavement with a cry. He tried desperately to scramble to his feet but his attacker was too quick for him. He picked up the screaming figure by the neck, tossing him like a sack of potatoes a few feet from where Nathan was hiding. From this position Nathan could see that the victim was a boy in his early teens with red hair and eyes wide with fear.

Nathan honestly tried to move this time. He managed to lift one leg, but then his body would not obey him. It was if he was stuck in quicksand, trapped and forced to watch the horrifying scene unfolding before him.

The youth struggled to get to his feet again but the taller figure was on top of him in an instant, his knee pressing into the teen's chest, his gloved hand brandishing a strange double-ended scalpel.

"I swear, I can pay! Just three more days!" the boy yelled.

"That's what you said three days ago," a deep growl came from the figure above him as he spoke. "And still nothing. It's been ninety days, kid. Your time is up." The figure set aside a bag he was carrying and pulled a chart from it. "Samuel Herring," he read from the chart dramatically, like a radio announcer. "Purchased one reconstructed heart, a large intestine, and two lungs." He tossed the clipboard aside, leaning closer to the teen. "You had better be taking care of those organs for us, Sammy. Mr. Largo needs his property returned in top-top shape."

The youth laughed, but it was high-pitched and almost sounded insane. "I smoke a pack a day, Repo. What are you gonna do about it?"

The Repo Man pressed his scalpel into the flesh of the youth's throat, drawing blood from the slice and a pained scream from Samuel. The youth retaliated, bringing a fist up to strike the man in the head. The Repo Man lost his balance for a second, and that was all Samuel needed. He used his whole body to throw his attacker off him completely, got to his feet, and began to run.

Nathan found himself silently cheering for the teenager, although he dared not make a sound out loud.

"I don't think so," the Repo Man growled, his hand shooting out and slicing the youth's leg open as he fled past him. The youth screamed in agony, but it didn't stop him. He hopped and hobbled as fast as he could, his one useless leg dragging behind him and squirting blood.

The Repo Man stood and reached his victim again in two powerful strides. He struck the teen down with a violent blow, and then picked him up and hauled him back over, shoving him against the garbage bin with a crash.

Nathan had never been more terrified then he had at that moment. He hardly dared to breath as the figures struggled mere inches from him. He was surprised they couldn't see him, but the darkness hid him in the shadows.

Samuel was fighting in the Repo Man's grasp, but he didn't stand a chance against the six-and-a-half foot man. He managed to land a few blows as he shrieked maddeningly. One well-placed punch knocked the helmet from his assailant's head, but Nathan's view was blocked as the Repo Man forced his victim to the ground. He couldn't see his face from this perspective, but he could see everything else.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," the Repo Man growled. "But I'm still going to enjoy this. I always do."

The words were sickeningly familiar to Nathan, but he couldn't place where he heard them before. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

The Repo Man cut open the youth's neck with one swift slice. Samuel sputtered, shock and agony on his face as the struggle slowly left his body. He tried to scream as his attacker tore off his shirt and split his chest open with the scalpel, but no sound came.

Repo laughed delightedly as he carved a hole in the teen's heaving torso. Blood was flowing freely now, coating the cement and his gloves.

Nathan pressed his hand to his mouth, forcing back vomit as the Repo man pulled a throbbing fist-sized organ from his victim's chest- his heart. It squirted blood in every direction, but as he severed the thick arteries attached to it the heart stopped pumping. Samuel's eyes were glassy white now, the eyes of a corpse.

The man pulled out the two lungs next, sealing each neatly in the bags beside him. The long intestine was last, and by this time Nathan tried to look away, feeling sick, but his eyes stayed riveted to the scene. The next thing the Repo Man said made Nathan actually cry out.

"It's all part of the job, Nathan." He stood over the empty shell of his victim now, clutching his organ bags in his bloody hands. That was when Nathan understood. The Repo Man turned, meeting his gaze. Nathan recoiled in horror. It was himself. The clone smiled evilly back at him, reveling in his terror and revulsion. "It's all part of _you_."

Nathan woke up screaming.

xxx

"Miss Sweet, Mr Largo," a man said as he burst into the room, and then caught sight of Luigi. "And Mr Largo," he added quickly, looking frightened.

"The fuck do you want?" Luigi roared at him. The man was shaking.

"Shut up, Luigi," Amber quieted him and beckoned the man in.

"M-miss Sweet," he continued. "We have a girl here requesting an audience with you."

Amber put her fingers to her temples. "Did you ask her what she wants?" she asked, slowly, as if the man was an idiot.

"She only says she has information to sell. She says it's urgent."

Amber sighed, looking over to Pavi, who shrugged. She didn't want to do this right now. "Deal with it," she spat at him, pulling up a transparent security screen. The girl was dark-skinned, and looked dirty. She had a false leg, and was looking around nervously. Her arms were wrapped around her middle. She seemed scared. Amber chuckled. If she wasn't already petrified, Luigi would take care of that. She wondered idly what information the street rat had for them. They doubtlessly knew it already, with their various eyes in the sky.

She touched another part of the screen, and swept through the cameras she'd installed in Graverobber's favorite alleys and bars. Nothing. Some junkies wandering around, people around fires, that's it. No Graverobber. Where the hell could he be?

"Bring her in," Pavi told the man, interrupting her thoughts.

xxx

Resa hated insomnia. She had it much too often, much too strongly. It made her feel like she wasn't real, like she was watching herself. Usually she just worked on her thesis when she couldn't sleep, but something held her to the bed, some kind of fear she hadn't felt in her own house since her mother died. _Since you killed her,_ her brain corrected. She felt the usual pang of guilt, and then kicked off her blankets, rolling onto her back.

She peeked at the hologram clock, squinting without her glasses, even though she knew she shouldn't. Five AM. Frustration filled her; she'd never, ever get to sleep, and she had to be at work in four hours.

Resa knew Nathan was snoring away somewhere below her, and she envied his ease of sleep. He was the Repo; _he_ should be the one with insomnia. But she supposed amnesia was hard enough, even though he'd seemed to remember everything now.

Ever since he'd hit her.

No. That wasn't him, she told herself. Automatically Resa's hand moved to her cheek, still a bit tender, and her eyes drifted to the ceiling. That look, though ... it terrified her. He'd promised never to hurt her. She sighed, twisting a strand of hair between two fingers. _Starting now? _she thought ironically.

But he was Nathan again. He'd never hurt her ... would he? She'd taken care of him, saved him. But maybe that was a bad thing. Maybe she deserved it. _Was_ it Stockholm Syndrome? She wasn't crazy, wasn't delusional in the slightest. She knew what he was capable of, knew that it _was_ him that hit her, that killed that man. But there was something else, something that kept her from blaming him all the same. She still knew that her Nathan was gentle, and unassuming, and patient, and emotionally distraught. She knew that she could forgive him for what he'd done. At least he had an excuse. Three people had been murdered in this house, though one was an accident, and one was a stranger and a thief. The other was her own mother. She definitely came out worst in the statistics.

Resa couldn't figure out why he'd been taken over, though. She'd pondered it for hours. Maybe he had schizophrenia? Split-personality disorder? Or maybe ... maybe it was just his way of dealing with the years and years of killing (mostly) innocent people. Maybe by creating this other self, Repo, he shifted the blame from himself, and it allowed _him_ to still be Nathan, unaffected and kind and, for the most part, happy. She could tell he missed his wife, but the guilt was gone now. Thanks to her. An uncomfortable feeling of shame and fright pitted her stomach, knowing that she'd eventually have to address the lie. What would happen then? Would he kill her out of anger? _Why did she keep lying to him?_

In frustration and anger at herself, she rolled over again and punched the headboard, satisfaction coming from the throbbing in her hand.

She wasn't afraid of him. She knew that was true. He'd hit her in the passion and heat of the moment, and she had been fighting and threatening him. Protecting a thief.

Suddenly she shot up, cold dread seeping through her. The thief. What if he told someone? What if they came to her house, GeneCo, looking for Nathan? What if...

She was already pulling on her scrub jacket over her nightgown, cursing as she moved. She should have just let Nathan deal with the thief. What the hell was she supposed to do now? What if GeneCo caught wind of it? And she had to be at work in three hours now. If she didn't show up they'd know something was up, if they didn't already. And she couldn't just leave Nathan here to fend for himself if GENforcers showed, and probably kill more people, some of whom she'd probably know ... she had to think of something, and fast.

The strangled yells reached her ears as she skidded down the hallway, and her heart stopped. What if they were already here? Nathan was asleep, he'd be useless! The urgency in her running grew as she padded down the stairs in her socks and threw open the lab door.

"Nathan!" she shouted, but the room was empty except for him. He sat up in bed, wrinkled shirt sticking to his skin with sweat and hair pushed back. Even though panic shone in his eyes, relief flooded her. But ... it wasn't GeneCo causing the panic, so what was it?

She hurried in, checking his vitals briefly on the monitor, and then grabbing her stethoscope. He didn't seem to be in any imminent danger, just in shock and still half-asleep, and she dropped onto the bed beside him. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured, taking a moment to stroke his hair back reassuringly. She put the earpieces in and pressed the cold metal to his damp shirt before he could even register her presence, though. "What happened? Are you all right? Does anything hurt?"

Nathan felt the mattress shift as someone sat down on his bed. A voice sounded at his right in low, comforting tones. He turned to her and his breath caught in his throat. With the light from the doorway haloed in her soft hair, tender concern in her eyes, Nathan saw his Marni. She was perfect and vibrant and alive; wonderfully, beautifully alive. He almost leaned forward to kiss her, when the last of the sleep evaporated like a cloud and he found himself staring at Resa.

"...you need Zydrate?" she was saying, unaware of the rapture that had seized his senses only a moment ago. Now that Nathan was fully awake, he could see that Resa looked exhausted. Her nightgown was wrinkled and she had pulled on her scrub jacket over top of it. Why did she have her jacket on at five in the morning? Her tangled chestnut hair fell across her shoulders; a nest for the feathers that adorned it in bright blues and greens. Her freckles trailed over her nose and hid in her flushed cheeks. She was beautiful.

As soon as this thought formed in his head, Nathan felt guilty. Resa was attractive, but she wasn't his Marni. And all the wishful thinking in the world couldn't bring his wife back.

"Nathan?"

He shook the thought from his head. "Sorry." He reluctantly glanced at her, trying his best to steady his voice. She only gazed back at him with concern. "I just had a bad dream, is all." He smiled at her reassuringly, but she didn't look like she believed him. Nathan swallowed, feeling a sudden overpowering desire to just open up. He could tell this woman everything; he could explain how the nightmare had been so dreadfully real that he could smell the blood and still hear the screams; he could tell her how that deep, dark part of him actually enjoyed- no, _reveled_ in watching the killing; he could explain to her his fear of one day not knowing the difference between his Repo side and himself, but with Resa there, with her unmistakable faith and trust in him, he could be safe from his own worst nightmare.

They would talk for hours, sprawled on his bed like teenagers, and she could call in to work sick and they would actually let her stay home. She could make them some more of that delicious beet soup she had fed him the first day, and they would laugh and cry and shake their fists at the world.

But this was only a dream. Nathan couldn't risk bringing himself any closer to this woman, no matter how much he wanted to, because he was utterly certain he would end up hurting her. Not in the physical sense (he would sooner cut off his own arms then let the Repo thing touch her, and he knew that it understood that. Even when he could feel it leering at her from the back of his mind, it didn't dare to do anything more), but he could break her heart. And he couldn't let her suffer anymore because of him, so he kept the feelings inside. Instead, he said, his words sounding colder than he intended, "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?

Resa's brow wrinkled at the brisk tone, but she kept her voice level. "I have to be at work in a few hours," she said smoothly, pulling off the stethoscope and standing. "What was your dream about?"

"Nothing."

The short answer sounded like it took effort. She looked over at him, but didn't push the issue. He seemed angry, looked angry, sounded angry, but she couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong. Resa closed the door over the old-fashioned machine's ticker tape output a little too hard. What the hell kind of right did _he_ have to be mad at _her_? She hadn't done anything. He, however, had just bashed a man apart all over her study.

"All right," she said, pretending to be reading the results, but actually going over the last night in her head. With no sleep it was difficult to concentrate. "Do you want the Zydrate or not?"

Nathan mumbled a 'no,' and she nodded.

"Food or anything? Tea?"

She was being pushy, she knew. But, maybe if she made him feel guilty enough, he'd actually tell her what was wrong. It didn't work, and he only shook his head. His eyes were traveling along her outfit, and with a flush, she realized how short her nightgown really was. Quickly she strapped the long leather jacket closed, but her legs still felt unbearably naked underneath. She tried to ignore the breeze and Nathan's wandering gaze.

"Fine. Look, I'm worried about the thief. The one I let go. He might tell someone."

Nathan shook his head, something dark flitting across his features. "He won't. With that slash through his wrist, he'd have been lucky to get ten feet."

Resa cast him a stony glance. "All the same," she said carefully. "I want you to be careful. If someone comes in, me or anyone else, you need to hide, all right? There's a cellar at the end of the hall that jams shut if you pull hard enough, and there's the closet beside the lab. Either will work in a hurry. Okay?"

Another deadpan nod. She wondered if he was still asleep. She wanted to go shake him by the shoulders, yell at him to be as worried as she was, but she didn't. _Kill him with kindness_, her mind told her. She hated her mind.

"Go back to sleep," she told him, voice softened with nerves, as she popped two blue pills out of a canister and filled a glass with water. "If you're not going to use the pure Z, at least take these. They're just painkillers. And actually take them, all right? They'll help."

He took the strong pills from her, but made no move to ingest them. She sighed. "I'm going to go write for a bit, then I'll get ready for work. If you're still up you can have breakfast with me."

Nathan looked like he wanted to say something. "Resa..."

"Don't. We'll talk when you're coherent."

She couldn't stand to leave when he was looking at her with those pain-filled blue eyes, though, and she leaned over to press a soft, lately-routine kiss to his cheek. "Sleep," she ordered, and left.


	15. Chapter 15

Graverobber felt light years better after Shilo administered the electrotherapy, amateurishly but effectively. His ribs still ached however, and he knew he'd need to see Heron soon for something stronger than the Advil that Shilo had found. For now though, he decided to duck Amber's search squad and stay in the huge mansion for a bit longer. She was finally admitting that she at least didn't mind his being there, but she still maintained that she didn't enjoy it. The way she fussed over him and forced her care on him told him otherwise, however.

"This one's really good, I swear," he insisted as she dropped on the couch beside him, popcorn in hand. He stretched out his legs, trying not to wince visibly when they landed on the empty coffee table with a thunk.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," Shilo grumbled. He was making her watch his favorite movie from when he was a kid, but she didn't seem impressed thus far.

"You're just lucky I let you off watching the sequels."

She smiled over at him, sarcasm dripping from her features. "Oh, well aren't you just the kindest soul?" she said sweetly. "Any woman would be so lucky to have such a gentleman..."

"Hey," he warned with a chuckle. "Lay off."

Shilo smiled genuinely before settling back. "They would, though."

"Would what?"

"Be so lucky."

Graverobber snorted. "You're joking."

"I'm really not."

He stared at her, looked into her huge, searching dark eyes. He laughed again to break the moment.

"Then you're insane," he said. "There's no doubt about it."

"You could be right," she admitted, looking back at the screen. "I was never really certain I was ever sane."

But Graverobber didn't hear what she was saying, as he suddenly became painfully aware of the close proximity. _She's eighteen_, he thought to himself. _Too young for you. Don't even try to justify anything._ But, she was an old eighteen; obviously still naive about the world, but having been through more shit than any eighteen-year-old ought to.

_No, _he ordered himself.

She yawned and moved, bringing her feet up under her. They happened to rest against Graverobber's thigh. He concentrated very hard on the movie, but nothing registered. What was the problem? He'd felt nothing whatsoever towards her for the last month, why now?

_That's not true._ And it wasn't. Suddenly every single moment she flicked her wig from her face, ruffled her short hair, looked at him with those puppy-dog eyes, shouted at him, chewed on her lip, or grinned that rare surprisingly huge, free grin was thrown into sharp perspective. What the hell was happening?

He had to get out of there. Suddenly he jumped up, ignoring the slash of pain in his chest, and Shilo looked at him in question.

"I - are you thirsty?"

"A little."

He smiled with an effort. "I'll get us drinks."

She nodded and smiled. "Okay."

He couldn't get away from her fast enough. In the kitchen he leaned against the counter, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Did he just go back in, pretend to pay attention to the movie? Should he leave? That was a dick move though, and he remembered what happened last time. He sighed, pouring cokes for them and going back. His heart thumped when Shilo took hers and grinned in thanks. She seemed to be feeling much better, or was forcing the comfortable behavior. Either was fine; she'd open up.

He dropped beside her again, a little farther away this time, putting his socked feet back up. Though his posture didn't show it, he was in tight discomfort for most of the film. Shilo put her bare feet up too, for a bit, and they brushed his occasionally when she laughed at the film. His stomach flipped. She grinned over at him occasionally, remarking that he was right, the movie wasn't bad. His reply was lost when he almost swallowed his tongue. Finally, she curled up again, and after a few minutes her head fell on his shoulder. She was dead asleep. His heart damned near stopped.

Graverobber forced himself to calm down. She'd fallen asleep on the couch near him before ... it was just on his shoulder this time. It wasn't a big deal. He lifted his arm for his drink, and Shilo slipped down, soft, warm head resting in his lap. It was fine. It was nothing. Graverobber forced his heart to stay in its place.

He considered waking her up, or carrying her to her bed or something. She had nightmares and didn't sleep well at night sometimes, so she must be tired. But he didn't move. He just watched her, brushing her hobbit hair away from her face. She shifted a little and brought an arm up to rest on, and he chuckled. She really was sweet, he thought. Graverobber was glad she'd stumbled upon him in the graveyard that first night. She grounded him. She was weird, and naive, and nice, and quirky, and had a hell of a temper. _And she's eighteen,_ a little of his remaining conscience reminded him.

But, for a living, he sold addictive chemicals taken from dead bodies to junkies who were that way because of him, for Chrissake. When had he ever used a conscience?

xxx

The mug burned Shilo's hands as she stood in the living room's doorway, leaning on the frame. She watched Graverobber sleep, looking cleaner than he had in ages, and looking like he needed the sleep. He sprawled over various pieces of her furniture; a leg on this table, the other over the arm of the couch, another limb above his head. She smiled a little private smile to herself, happy as always to see the man in her house again. Even if he'd shown up half-dead this time and she'd screamed at him like everything was his fault. She felt bad about that; none of it was his fault. She was the messed up one. He was the one grounding her.

An hour or two before she'd woken up with her head in his lap, and felt the familiar embarrassed flush creep up her neck before realizing he was dead above her as well. His head had fallen back, and she'd innocently admired his jawline for a moment. His rough, callused hand was on her face, and she gingerly picked it up to move it. She didn't want to wake him, but this was quite the scandalous position she found herself in. The movie had started over in the auto-player, and she flicked it off before sitting up and stretching. The grandfather clock read only 1:30.

Graverobber stayed asleep as she'd tiptoed off to bed, but she couldn't sleep. She missed the warm body underneath her, and her face felt extra chilly where his hand had rested. She wasn't ... no. Was she? No. It was a psychological thing, she told herself. Some kind of sciencey thing that said she craved contact and was unstable after a shock and would latch onto anyone romantically to feel closure, or something like that. She didn't actually care how nice his smile was, or how soft his long hair was when clean, or how ... normal and young he looked without the dust and dirt caked on his face. He was still pale, but it wasn't a bad thing.

Gah! She was just a kid. What the hell would he want with her? He was interesting, and macabre, and celebrity. He could probably have any woman in the city, any Zydrate addict looking for more. He could have Amber Sweet, for God's sake. What the _hell_ would he want with her?

But ... she did miss his lap, and the tickling warmth of his rough hand. She knew she'd be awake for forever if she stayed on her own. Eventually she found herself moving back downstairs slowly. Graverobber had slid down on the couch a bit. Shilo stood there, torn. Would he be angry if he found her lying there with him? He hadn't moved her before ... but maybe he'd fallen asleep before her.

It wouldn't be romantic, she assured herself. She just needed a friend to hold her for a bit. Even if said friend was asleep. It wasn't like she had another to go to, anyway. The wooden floor was cold on her toes as she crept back to the couch, and slid beside him. Already she felt more comfortable, even though her heart thudded against her chest heavily. His arm was across the back of the couch, and she settled underneath it, careful of his ribs. She fit perfectly. A warm feeling fell over her, and she'd fallen asleep almost right away.

But the sun rising through the window woke her again a few hours later, and Shilo was disappointed to find Graverobber still asleep. Even though every relaxed, yearning muscle in her body screamed against it, she hoisted herself up before he could know that she was there. She made coffee, trying to act as if everything was normal. But every cell in her brain was exploding simultaneously with the enormity of what she'd just been brave enough to do.

xxx

Zaire uncrossed her arms and crossed them again as she was led into a large office with high ceilings and luxurious furniture. Three of the most powerful people in the world reclined on them now, and Zaire was suddenly struck with fear. She focused only on moving her feet forward as she felt their eyes on her, scrutinizing and arrogant. She was careful to stop before getting any dirt on the oriental rug.

"Well?" a voice came from one of the lavish chairs, expectant.

Zaire felt very, very small as she lifted her eyes to them. She had only ever seen the Largos pasted on digital billboards and glossy magazine covers before, (except for Amber, who she'd seen from a distance a few times) and to meet them in person was startling. They didn't look much different - Luigi still had that contemptuous sneer, Pavi still had a mask of flesh that made her shiver - but they seemed more powerful in person. Even the way they sat seemed to proclaim that they knew the extent of their wealth and influence, and they wore this knowledge proudly on their shoulders.

"Out with it then, brat!" Luigi barked, causing Zaire to almost jump out of her skin.

She opened her mouth, but only a squeak came out.

"What?"

Zaire took a breath, remembering why she was doing this. Remembering Bo.

"I have some information," she said, marveling at how steady and loud her voice had become.

"Yes, that's obvious. Now hurry up and spit it out." Luigi was losing his patience. Pavi shot him a look, but he just rolled his eyes.

"It's about the Repo Man. The one that's supposed to be dead."

"What do you mean, supposed to be?" Amber narrowed her eyes and peered at her through the security screen.

"Well, he's not." Zaire didn't know how they would take this news, but the three of them just stared at her. "He's alive. But before I tell you anything else I want money." She paused, feeling a dizzying thrill at how brave she was being. Demanding something of the Largos? They could have her head for this, but for some reason she didn't care. "I want money," she repeated, and ... you have to promise me you won't send any Repo Men after my friends."

Luigi waved a hand dismissively and with a chuckle. Somehow that was more terrifying to Zaire than anything. "Yeah, yeah, we'll give you whatever the info is worth. We may be murderers-"

"Speak for yourself..." Pavi interrupted from his chair.

"-but we do hold our promises. Now where did you get this _ridiculous_ idea?"

"A ... friend of mine came back all torn up. There was blood everywhere and his wrist and stomach were cut open. We don't know what happened to his partner, but we can't find him either. He said the Repo Man was back." Zaire expected them to gasp or shoot to their feet and start yelling orders at people to find their rogue Repo Man, but instead a slow, terrifying grin spread across Luigi's face. Pavi glanced over at his brother and they exchanged knowing looks.

"What?" Zaire suddenly felt a cold dread congeal in her stomach.

"You said they were partners," Luigi sneered. "Partners in what? Crime?" He laughed, and Amber's eyes widened as she caught on to what her brothers had realized.

"A dirty thief," she said, voice rising in pitch and surprise evident on her face. "The nerve of a dirty thief!"

"What?" Zaire squeaked. "It's true! Really!"

"They get smarter and smarter every day," Pavi said in wonderment.

Luigi lithely got to his feet and began to approach her. Zaire backed away. "Do you think we're stupid?" he shouted. A gob of spit flew from his mouth and hit Zaire in the face. She almost tripped over herself in her panic to back away.

"No, no I swear. It's true. He's alive-"

"I ought to cut you into pieces for thinking you could pull one over on us," Luigi sneered.

"Luigi, she's just a kid." Pavi stood up cautiously.

"What, is lying to the Largos supposed to be more profitable than your average housebreak now?" Luigi ignored his brother, reaching Zaire as her back hit the wall.

Zaire's heart beat in her throat as her eyes darted to the exit. Could she make it in time? Out of the corner of her vision she saw Luigi draw a blade. There was only one way to find out. She darted past him and shot through the door, dashing through the hallway and out of the GeneCo building as the oldest Largo's laughter erupted behind her.

"What?" Back in the office, Luigi sheathed his blade to the glares of his siblings. "I was just going to scare her a little. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun."

"God, Luigi," Amber said venomously. "You always have to chase away the little bits of entertainment I get, don't you?"

"You got GeneCo," he said quietly, sounding jealous.

"Yeah, I got fucking GeneCo, who the hell else did you think could take care of it? You?" Amber laughed spitefully, pushing the screen back down into the desk. "Anyway, what if her information was legitimate?"

"It wasn't," Pavi input. "You can't trust thieves."

"Then why should we trust you?" shot Luigi. Pavi fingered the pretty face that covered his.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Amber shouted. "Aren't we past all the stupid sibling rivalry stuff? There's more to deal with now than wet willies and tattle-taling!"

"Says the one who got GeneCo."

Amber threw a picture frame at him off the desk. Luigi dodged it and glowered, sinking back into his seat. "You think I want this stupid company? It's a waste of time and effort! I wanted the money, pea-brain, which I haven't got yet, thanks to your idiot lawyers! You want GeneCo? Take it!"

Luigi was quiet, though, and Amber settled down.

"So we just ignore the girl?" she asked, throwing her legs over the arm of their father's huge seat.

"Yes," Pavi answered easily, letting his head drop back and looking at Amber upside-down. "No question."

"Fine." Maybe it was because she didn't want to believe that Nathan Wallace was back, didn't want to deal with it, but it was so much easier to just forget about it. Instead, she got down to business. Despite what she'd have her brothers believe, she liked being in charge, liked being the head honcho. She'd always been in control, but being head of GeneCo was in writing. The money definitely would have been nice to have, but she still had her own salary to work with, which was more than she'd ever had before. Except when daddy had paid off her surgeries, but she'd never actually seen a cent.

"Now. About the body farms, Pavi..."

xxx

Nathan let out a frustrated groan as Resa left. Why did he have to be so reserved? She probably thought she had done something wrong, and knowing her she would worry. He touched his cheek gently where she had kissed him. Why couldn't he just be normal? A painful throb came from his leg, but he ignored it and set the pills aside. The thing in his head would be getting no play time today.

**Come on,** came the whispered voice, so familiar it sent shivers down his spine. **Take the pills. You're in pain. **

"No," Nathan said aloud, feeling satisfied how strongly his voice reverberated in his ears. His voice. His real voice.

**Are you sure?** An agonizing pain shot through his leg suddenly. Nathan had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

**You don't own me, Nathan. Take the fucking pills.**

"No!" Nathan shouted, before lowering his voice so Resa wouldn't overhear. "You're not real. You're just in my head. You can't force me to do anything. And as soon as I take those pills, and give up my control for a second, I know you'll come crawling in."

**I just want a little exercise. Being cooped up in here is boring,** the voice whined, almost child-like. Then suddenly it retaliated, and Nathan screamed as searing pain tore through him. He gasped, curling into a ball on his bed as he lost his vision for a second.

"You can't-" he finally managed as the pain subsided.

**Hey, this isn't easy on me either. Whatever you feel, I feel. **And the voice was probably right, Nathan realized. It did sound weaker than before. **But I can withstand pain longer than you. Do you really want to fight this? Take the pills.**

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It would be so easy to give in, if only for a second-

"Nathan!" Resa called from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready."

-but he couldn't. He would hold on, for Resa.

**What are you doing?** the voice protested, as he hobbled out of bed, favoring his leg, and began to change.

Since Resa had realized soon after she took him in that he would need more than the clothes he was wearing, she had made it her mission to visit every thrift store in Crucifixus on the weekend and buy him a wardrobe. Some of the stuff she brought back he wasn't sure about, but he liked most of it. He slipped on a faded pair of jeans and a cardigan, singing to distract himself from his thoughts and keep the voice from figuring out what he was doing. It protested, sneering and growling, but it didn't hurt him anymore.

Nathan hurried out to meet Resa, following the smell of chocolate-chip pancakes, or something similar since chocolate was even harder to find than meat.

The instant he saw her smile, the voice melted away. It was there one minute, and then gone the next, like a snake slithering back to its hole.

"I'm sorry about before," Nathan said, feeling instantly better. He took a pancake and lathered it with syrup. "I was just out of it because of the dream."

She started to say something and he interrupted her. "-I'd rather not talk about it right now," he murmured, as politely as he could manage.

Resa briefly looked up, nodding and smiling tightly before going back to her coffee. The paper had arrived and she was idly flipping through it, not really registering the headlines. She never told Nathan, but she regularly checked it for any mention of herself, just in case something slipped through GeneCo's safety net, and now for any mention of him as well. (Again, just in case.) "All ... all right. It's fine, don't worry about it," she murmured, trying to make sense of the words in front of her. In fact, she was still a bit peeved about his cold attitude, but she understood the dream thing. "What are you going to do today?" she murmured distractedly, turning another page. There was an article about GeneCo that piqued her interest, but it was only another of Amber Sweet's silly pillow announcements about the company's well-being.

"I dunno. Probably just read."

"Okay." She finished the paper and tossed it aside. Nathan was eating the pancakes with a vigor she hadn't seen in a while. "Look, Nate..." she started. "You're probably right and we have nothing to worry about, and I'm just being silly, but please, please, please, _be careful_. If anything whatsoever happens - anything - hide. Don't open the door or anything, okay?"

"Why would I open the door?"

"I dunno, if you order pizza or something."

"I just won't order pizza then, shall I?"

She groaned. "You know what I mean. Just ... stay safe."

The toothy grin he shot her made her feel like she was overreacting. "Hey," he said. "I'm a vicious killer, remember? I can take care of myself."

The corner of her mouth tugged a bit and she nodded, though somehow the joking sentiment wasn't very reassuring. "All the same," she said. "I'd rather not clean any more corpses out of my carpet or anything, all right? Try to keep it clean."

"Yes, mother."

Resa shook her head and checked her watch. Ten-to. She'd be early, but maybe she ought to be after the last few foul-ups. She didn't want to leave Nathan, but it was necessary to keep a normal schedule. Especially after the fugitive you've been hiding from the company you work for smashes a man all over your house and the other one escapes.

Hoisting her bag over her shoulder and pocketing a breakfast bar for later, she gave Nate a little two-finger salute. Helmet on, don't think about the escaped thief. Keys in hand, don't worry about Nathan. Door open, don't be frightened of going to work. Grab wallet, don't worry about Nathan. Shouted instructions for lunch and Zydrate, don't think about the brains on the curtains that wouldn't come out. Door closed, don't imagine scenarios where everything goes horribly wrong. Climb on bike, don't worry about Nathan. Engine revved, don't think about Nathan's reaction to her lies. Pull out of the driveway, don't worry about Nathan. Speeding down the freeway, don't think about anything.

That was the only one that actually worked.

xxx

Graverobber shifted uncomfortably before blinking awake. He'd forced himself to abandon sleep in the middle of a very vivid, very lurid dream involving one Shilo Wallace.

"Coffee?"

He jumped, turning to look behind him. Shilo smiled hesitantly and held out a white mug. Seeing her so soon after doing ... well, bad, bad things with her gave him a bit of a shake. "What time is it?"

"Five," she answered. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no," he shook his head, sitting up. The feelings from the dream were still lingering, but Shilo would have looked beautiful anyway. Though she wore her thick wig over her short hair, her eyes were squinty with sleep and her cheeks were flushed. "Fuck, it's early. Weird dream." He swiped a large hand down his face. He was sure he wasn't the prettiest one at the ball right now; he couldn't make himself care, however. Right now Graverobber was preoccupied with getting the image of a very naked Shilo writhing beneath him out of his mind.

He hoisted himself to his feet and moved closer to her, taking the cup of coffee. She sipped her own, giving him a small smile from under her wig. He tried very, very hard not to sweep her onto the couch and ravish her right there. "You all right?" he managed instead.

"What? Yeah, why?"

"You're up at five, wearing your wig. You only wear that thing when we're going out or you're upset. I assume we have nowhere to be at five in the morning." He reached one hand up and pulled the false hair back, tossing it on the coffee table behind him. Shilo didn't seem to mind, and he ruffled her hair to make it stand on end like he liked. "That's better."

Her giggle as she ducked from his reach was infectious. He sipped at the coffee through a smile. It was good as far as coffee went, he supposed, but the amount of alcohol it contained was disappointing. Namely, none.

"I'm fine," Shilo insisted as she sat at the table, pushing the cereal and a bowl towards him. "I just had an off night."

"Did you sleep?"

Her blush failed to escape him. He wondered if she was embarrassed about waking up in his lap, but she must have left ages before he woke up, since he was lying over everything. Had she gone to bed?

"Yeah. Plenty." She smiled again, but it was an odd smile. Like she wanted to say something. He was having trouble concentrating on her words when her eyebrows wiggled as she said them, or how her mouth pouted before each smile. She was so different from the girls he normally ... well, he didn't date. The girls he normally got involved with. Mostly street girls, and lately, a lot of Amber Sweet. All too confident or swaggering or drugged up. He liked Shilo's clean, unsure way she went about any little thing, and the innocent way any topic vaguely sexual sent a flush through her face.

"Hey ... Graves?"

He started. Had she caught him staring? "Yeah, kid?"

"Th-thanks for taking care of me. I'd probably be dead of starvation and angst if it wasn't for you."

He laughed. "Yeah, probably."

"Why did you come here? At first, I mean."

He hadn't expected that question. How the hell was he supposed to answer it? Graverobber had never helped anyone but himself. Why _had_ he come back?

"I saw you coming out of the opera," he said. He remembered how devastated and yet fierce she'd looked, but the unsureness and fear underneath the determination was what drew him towards her. He'd wandered around for a few nights after the opera, selling a few vials and drinking a lot, but he hadn't been able to get that face out of his mind. Especially considering it was on every tabloid he saw. "You looked like you needed help. I thought I could be of service, maybe get a bed out of it. I figured you didn't have anyone else."

She laughed sadly. "Yeah. You were right on that."

When he'd finally decided to at least check on her, Graverobber had fought with himself for hours, debating whether he should do more. He watched her in the mausoleum. Their link between the graveyard and her clean-cut existance. He didn't even remember her name, just her face. She'd fallen asleep in the corner with a book, and looked cold. He paced, pulled some glow from the nearby corpses, tried to stall, tried to get caught by the cameras and lights. Anything to keep from getting involved.

But he did, and when she fell to the hard stone floor and curled up, he couldn't stand it anymore. Loudly he picked the lock and scraped open the door, but she didn't wake up. Then he hoisted her up in his arms, book and all, and hauled her into her living room, where he dropped her on the couch. He then realized how terrible she looked, with deep circles under her eyes, pale skin, and about a millimeter of hair where her wig was slipping. He'd liked the bare head better than the thick wig, though.

Then she'd begun to wake up, and he slipped out as quickly as he'd brought her in. He wondered if she even noticed the transition from stone to arms to couch, but she didn't seem to.

He spent a lot more time in the graveyard, but she didn't come back to the mausoleum for a while. Then he saw her out one day in the streets, a basket in her arms. He'd laughed; an expensive-looking jug of half-milk and loaf of plastic-molded bread didn't seem like a great grocery shop. And then someone had tried to rob her of her treasures, and he'd caused a distraction so she could get away. He didn't see her leave the house at all after that, and worried that something had happened.

That's how he'd found himself on her doorstep. And she just seemed so helpless that he couldn't leave again.

But he couldn't tell her all that.

"You've gone soft, big scary Graverobber," she'd told him after he'd made her start eating again.

And he supposed he had. He could still look after himself, though, and her. That'd have to be enough for now.


	16. Chapter 16

Nathan let out a breath as soon as Resa left. She did seem genuinely concerned about the thief and now he was regretting not taking her more seriously. He just didn't want her to worry, and if she got in trouble because of him, he didn't know what he would do.

He wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and carried his plate to the sink to clean it, thinking back to the night before.

The man had _seemed_ badly injured, but Nathan couldn't help feeling worried. Street thugs had friends everywhere; he probably didn't have to go far to find some help. He could still be alive and talking.

Nathan glanced apprehensively at the door, and then went over and made sure Resa had locked it. She had, of course. She wouldn't forget something like that. He then wandered though the empty house, checking every door and window he could find. They were all locked. No one was getting in if he didn't want them to.

However, he couldn't keep the demons at bay in his mind quite that easily. The pressure was constantly there now, dark, oppressive, and threatening. And there was nothing he could do to make it leave him. Nathan felt a sudden wave of depression so strong he had to choke back a sob. He was so tired of the Repo thing. Even though it had only truly reared its monstrous head last night, he felt a deep weariness in his bones that told him the thing had been there a lot longer than that. It had probably been with him since he began working for GeneCo years ago. What chance was there that it would leave now?

He paused in front of a mirror. The figure staring back at him seemed almost alien, haggard, with pale skin, ruffled hair and deep, troubled blue eyes. He felt the pressure in his mind stir restlessly, and he sighed. The thing would probably try to get him to take the pills again, and he didn't know if he could resist this time. Nathan closed his eyes and thought of his daughter that had died.

"Shilo," he murmured her name. It tasted so familiar. He had said it before, countless times. "Shilo. Shilo, Shilo, Shi." Nathan smiled to himself, bringing his arm up to the mirror and leaning his head against it, still squeezing his eyes shut. "Clean your room, Shi. Shilo, I told you I want to meet this boy before you go out with him. Happy Birthday, Shi. Shilo, I love you." The words gave him comfort, and if only for a moment, just a moment, he actually remembered saying them all. But then the feeling was gone again like the passing of a faint breeze and he opened his eyes.

The pressure in his mind had left him alone, at least for the moment.

xxx

Luigi strode down the halls of GeneCo, coffee in hand. It was his fourth of the day, and it was only ten in the morning.

As he passed by his father's private study, separate from the business office, he slowed. The room was empty, and he and his brother and sister hadn't been in it since Rotti's death. Luigi felt a small pain in his chest at the thought of his father, a large, imposing grey-haired man. It seemed like every time he looked at Luigi it had been with a gaze of disapproval.

He hesitated, and then pushed open the doors and stepped into the room. The smell of ink and leather-bound books greeted him at once, and a wave of nostalgia hit him. Luigi walked up to the desk and paused, his eyes traveling over the old papers and files that still covered it. He trailed his fingers along the intricate carved edges of the mahogany, almost expecting them to come away with a thin film of dust, but the desk was spotless. Some employee was probably still cleaning it. He felt a small pang of disappointment, but he didn't know why.

From behind the desk a handsome and imperial chair announced its black leather presence. Luigi approached it now, slipping off his gloves. He almost wished he was wearing a hat so he could take it off in his best attempt at a respectful gesture. If he concentrated, he could almost see the shadow of his father there, bent over his books, a pen grasped firmly in his meaty hand. Luigi reached out and touched the armchair, but didn't dare to sit down, like Amber could so easily at the desk in the office. Luigi just couldn't shake the horrifying image of him being swallowed whole by it if he did so.

He looked away, and instead let his eyes wander around the study again. The last time he had been in here was with his father and siblings, the night of the opera, again discussing – well, fighting over – the will, and then his father had shut them up to order the assassination of Nathan Wallace. The memory was so strong he could still play it all out in his head like a movie.

As he thought of the Repo Man, an image of the street rat crossed his mind. She claimed Nathan was alive, but she had clearly been lying for money... right? He didn't like the small, cold knot of uncertainty that twisted in his stomach. Luigi had seen the Repo Man shot with his own eyes, and watched as Pavi left with his body to drop off with the surGENs for parts. He narrowed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to do a little asking around. No one would have to know. Luigi finished his coffee and crumpled the mug on the pristine desk, his mind working quickly. There were probably dozens of surGENs on duty then. He wouldn't be able to make it through them all in one day. Two days, maybe. Perhaps even three. But he would yell and scream and threaten like he did best, and someone would confess to something. Luigi was sure of it.

xxx

The Milton Boarding School and Orphanage for Boys was an ancient building on the outskirts of Crucifixus, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. The orphanage was almost completely brick, and painted an unattractive and faded yellow. Two large white pillars, which had been a donation by the city, stood alone and out of place on either side of old cement stairs.

Zaire approached in its shadow, feeling out of place like always. Right now boys scattered the lawn in a sea of navy uniforms, running and yelling at the top of their lungs. She sidled alongside the fence, feeling a tinge of worry when she didn't see a little brown head bobbing among all the white ones. Where was he?

But then there he was, moving through the wave of bodies, his head cast down and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Zaire whistled, and the boy looked up, spotting her. He grinned, running over.

"I thought you said you weren't coming today!" he said, his wide eyes shining with boyish pleasure.

"I lied." Zaire shared his smile, and reached through the fence bars to ruffle his short, stubby hair. She could just barely feel the scar that encircled his scalp, but it was still there, like a memory that wouldn't go away. "What have you been up to?"

The boy shrugged. "Just stuff." He pulled his hands from his pockets and grasped the bars of the fence.

"Do mom and dad ever come see you?" The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Immediately the boy's smile deflated and his face crumpled in on itself. He looked as if he were about to cry.

"They pretend they never had me." he said, staring at the ground. "It's cause I'm bad. I didn't listen."

"No, that's not true, Bo," Zaire said soothingly, using his real name in a whisper so no one would overhear. It seemed like she didn't have to worry, however. The boys weren't paying attention to them, and there were no teachers around except for one standing on the steps, and he hadn't spotted them yet. She pulled her brother in for an awkward hug through the bars as he sniffled. "They still love you; they're just playing a game."

Bo looked up at her, tears streaking his dark face. His skin was smooth and soft, reminding Zaire of hot chocolate. "A-a game?" he whispered.

"Yeah. They're seeing how good you can be when they're not around. And so far they've been very impressed." She felt awful lying to him, but her brother always believed her.

He slowly smiled again, wiping the tears from his face with the backs of his hands. "Then I'll make them really happy."

Zaire's smile faltered as she caught sight of Bo's little pink palms. She reached out and took one in her hands before he could pull away, and she gasped. His palms were streaked with straight, pale scars. Some of the marks were still fresh, and Bo yelped when she ran her fingers over them.

"It's my fault," he said hurriedly. "I got some questions wrong in class-"

"Oh, Bo," Zaire interrupted him, her voice breaking. "This is not your fault. It's mine. I should've watched you more carefully that day." She was no longer referring to the scars on his hands. "It's my fault," she said again. "How were you supposed to know?"

"I studied real hard." Bo said loudly, as if she hadn't spoken. "They said I-"

"Do you remember?" Zaire knew she shouldn't be pushing it, but she couldn't see her brother like this. He needed to face the truth.

"-should know all my maths tables by now, but I don't even know what maths are-"

"The train, Bo." Zaire couldn't stop now, and she had to talk over him as he raised his voice. The teacher looked in their direction. "Do you remember that day with the train?"

Her brother suddenly stopped short in the middle of his ramble and stared at her, his eyes welling with tears. "There was blood. There was so much blood…"

"I know, I know," Zaire murmured, her own eyes dampening. She pulled him in close, wishing she could reach near enough to kiss the top of his head. "But you remember; that's the important thing."

The teacher had spotted them and started to approach.

Zaire squatted down to eye level with her brother and gripped him by the shoulders. "I almost got money yesterday, Bo. I was almost able to take you out of here."

The boy nodded. He had heard those words before, and it was evident on his face. With a heavy heart Zaire realized that a child of eight should not know so much about the world. Sometimes he looked at her with such an expression that she could almost feel her heart breaking in two. She squeezed his shoulders. "We'll be out of here, someday. I promise."

The teacher was almost at the gate now, and he was pointing at her, shouting something.

Zaire gave her brother one more reassuring smile, which he returned with some difficulty. "I'll be back again soon," she whispered, and then she stood and took off.

xxx

The sky was still dark blue, thick and cloudy with pollution, as Resa pulled into her spot at GeneCo and flipped off the engine. It was a lot harder not to worry about Nathan when she didn't have him near her, especially after the day before. She felt distant, like she was watching everything from the sidelines, and pictures of Nathan being dragged away by men with visors kept flashing through her mind. She should've tried to keep sleeping. She even forgot to say good morning to Asha as they passed each other.

Her tiny office was exactly how she'd left it, even though she didn't know why it wouldn't be. She'd half expected to come back to a ransacked, torn apart office, but if GeneCo _had_ been in her things, they'd have been neater than that.

Her first surgery was on the desk in a transparent folder, stamped with a red GeneCo logo. Resa rifled through it absentmindedly as she fell into the ratty chair. It was funny how her house was, though crammed with stuff, fairly neat, but her office was the most disorganized thing she'd ever seen. It used to make sense because she spent all her time in the office and was never home to make a mess, but now she didn't even have that excuse. She'd barely been at work for the last month or so, trading shifts like crazy to stay home with Nate.

She sighed and reclined, tossing the client profile back on the desk, not having registered a word of it. What was Nathan doing right now? Should she message him and make sure he was still all right? She'd left a spare wristcomm at home in case of an emergency, but it had stayed on the kitchen counter for the last few weeks. Would he even hear it?

Left without anything to work on until the surgery later in the morning, Resa opened her file drawer and reached into the very back, under a box of supplies. She slipped the file out with some difficulty and tossed it open. Nathan Wallace's, _not_ Nathan Williams', young, grim face stared out at her, and she sighed, automatically wanting to make him feel better. As Resa flipped through, she wondered how brutally Asha - or her boss - would murder her if she knew about the copy of his file she'd made for herself. Considering Luigi Largo didn't even know she'd ever seen it.

There was still nothing in it that could help her. It was top secret, and gave some of the details about his induction into GeneCo. She knew there was a file exactly like it somewhere with her name and face on the front page, but wanted nothing less than to go look at it. The only important thing the plastic in front of her mentioned was that his wife and child were killed towards the end of her pregnancy, and listed the chemical compound that had done it. And of course, his Repo contract was in there.

Resa groaned, tossing the file back in the drawer. She'd read it so many times that she had it nearly memorized it from cover-to-cover. Especially the numbers. The numbers haunted her for some reason. _Nathan Michael Wallace; Born 17 November 2011; Hired 14 May 2039, age 27. Wife (deceased 14 May 2039, age 24) Marni Wallace; Child (deceased 14 May 2039, age 0) Shilo Wallace,_ she recited in her head, closing her eyes. The pictures flashed through her mind like a barrage of bullets. _Wife, pregnant 34 weeks, killed by the chemical HCN, administered by N Wallace. Accidental death. Wallace found 07:30 PM with body. Daughter born Cesarian-Section to surGEN Joon Ho at 07:34 PM, deceased at 07:48 PM..._

Most of the photos included in the file were autopsy and employee photos, and of the scene as documentation. But there was one that stuck with her, that gripped her mind and wouldn't let go, shaking her. She pulled it out again and her heart dropped just to look at it. The body of Nathan's wife lying on a table, being sliced open by a man in a medical mask. Rotti was overlooking the birth. Nathan on the left, looking young and vulnerable, held back by men. His handsome face was twisted in a scream that said the worst agony on earth couldn't compare to what was happening to him. Resa touched his expression with a finger. She could almost hear him, like a horrible, mangled echo. It destroyed her to see him like that.

She stared at the photo for another minute before wiping her eyes and sliding it back into the folder, hiding it away. It still attacked her mind, though.

She should bring the file home that evening, just in case. Maybe she should even destroy it. But she couldn't do that...she'd put it in the false bottom drawer of her desk at home. The desk had come like that, but it proved insanely useful. Like now.

A Gentern came in to tell her that the first patient was ready and Resa nodded, trying to clear her mind as she got up to go to work.


	17. Chapter 17

Resa was almost dead. After ten hours of work, eight million cups of coffee, seven surgeries, three near-fatal mishaps, two very fatal organ rejections, one almost-run-in with Luigi Largo, one definite run-in with Amber Sweet, another million cups of coffee, and four ten-minute naps on her stiff, uncomfortable chair, it was absolute hell to drag herself out of the building to her bike. She was stressed, tired, grumpy, hungry (she'd slept during her lunch hour), and had worried constantly about Nathan all day. Resa had finally had enough and sent a message at around noon, but didn't get a reply, and had forced herself to assume Nate had either gone back to bed or just didn't hear. Those had to be the only two options, or she would get a massive speeding ticket on the way home.

She swung one leg over the bike and quickly swallowed two caffeine pills so she'd be able to keep her balance. The setting sun was actually peeking through the clouds of polluted air, sending dull, purple ripples of light against her skin and the rough roads. It was more sun than Crucifixus, the Night City they called it, or any of the surrounding region had seen in months, and Resa enjoyed the flecks of warmth that flitted through her visor and scarf.

The caffeine helped. She didn't feel like killing something so much anymore - joke, she reprimanded herself at the poor choice of words - and just concentrated on getting home alive. She needed to make sure Nathan was fine, and then she needed a major stress reliever. And a nap.

Suddenly her wrist was beeping, and it took her a moment before she realized it was the communicator strapped to it. She pulled over quickly, heart skipping a beat as Nathan's head spun in front of her. _Incoming message from Nathan Williams,_ the wristcomm intoned warmly. The words she'd been waiting to hear all day.

"Sorry I didn't get your message sooner, I was in the study cleaning some more," the voice she loved listening to, especially when it meant he was alive, said in an odd tone. It sounded … nostalgic. "Everything's fine here, nothing at all wrong. I'll keep in touch, and contact you if the situation calls for it. Don't worry so much, okay?"

Resa let out a whoosh of breath. Suddenly 80% of the tension in her shoulders disappeared, and she rested an arm on the handlebars.

Nathan had still sounded angry. She knew it probably wasn't her fault, but should she give him some space for a bit? Maybe there was something she could do for an hour or so. The graveyard for old machinery and parts that she'd frequented to relax had been virtually unvisited for the last few months, maybe there was some really good stuff she'd missed. It was five minutes from the house, so she decided to drop the bike off in the garage before going over. That way if she found something big she could just wheel it home on the platform she'd built for exactly that.

Perfect. The search for old medical equipment and parts was exactly the kind of fun she needed.

xxx

Graverobber slipped into his long leather jacket, trying to make as little noise as possible with the creaky wooden floor, moving gingerly so his wounds wouldn't flare up. They felt a million times better, but were still tender and hurt if he moved harshly, and he had to get his ankle and shoulder set by Heron. There was no way around it.

Or he just had to get out for a bit. Being around Shilo was killing him. He needed to get away from her for a bit and sort out his thoughts. Heron was an excuse, he admitted to himself silently. Albeit a good one.

When Shilo had announced she was going to bathe before bed, he'd taken the opportunity to get out. He wouldn't be long, not long enough for her to do anything rash. Maybe she wouldn't even notice he was gone until he got back. He needed to go, though. Besides Shilo being way too cutesy and friendly and shit around him - and that unquashable urge to wildly kiss her that he had to work harder and harder to ignore - that claustrophobic feeling he got from being indoors too long was pressing in on him again. It felt like the walls were closing and suffocating him, and he needed to feel fresh air (well, as fresh as you could get in this environment) in his lungs, and dirt under his boots, and open sky above him. It was just something he needed.

Maybe it had nothing to do with Shilo?

No, as soon as he thought her name her smile flashed in his mind, a bright, carefree front for the troubled mess beneath it. The mess she wouldn't let him see. He'd only seen her genuinely smile once or twice, he realized as he strapped on his Zydrate belt. That was a shame. But it was still more than he could hope for for a while yet.

Graverobber was itching to be back out in the open. But he realized with a sudden cold feeling that he'd left his boots upstairs. Which meant risking running into Shilo. Which meant questions. Which meant answers he wasn't prepared to give.

With a groan he made his way upstairs, silently and slowly to avoid both Shilo and pain. His boots were in the last bedroom, where Shilo had treated him. He hoped he could tiptoe past the bathroom well enough, because he didn't hear any water running yet.

xxx

Nathan's head was swarming with thoughts as he made his way upstairs, favoring his leg. It had healed miraculously well over the time he spent at Resa's, but one wrong step would send a red-hot bolt of pain through his leg. He had learned that the hard way.

As he climbed the steps, he reveled in the quiet. The house was silent and empty. The Repo Thing was off sulking somewhere, and he was left with only his own thoughts for company. So instead of going back to his bedroom, where he knew the painkiller pills were waiting for him, or going to the kitchen where silver knives glinted in the artificial white light, or sitting in the study or lab where the blood was scrubbed clean but memories stained the walls, he went into Resa's bedroom. He felt terribly guilty at first, but he didn't know why. He had been in Resa's bedroom before. She hadn't seemed to mind.

The room smelled _feminine_. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. Although there were a few out-of-place items, like combat boots in the corner and a paperweight on the antique desk that looked like it had once been part of a car, the room exuded a kind of warm comfort. Much like Resa.

Nathan didn't feel right sitting on her bed, so he crossed the room and collapsed into her desk chair, a tall brown thing that swiveled. Sitting quietly in Resa's room, it wasn't long before he felt a memory coming on. It wasn't a bad one, he could tell from the way it made him feel nice inside. Nathan closed his eyes and let it fill his mind.

"_You already packed my medicine!" she protested as a determined Nathan marched past her again and back into the small kitchen.  
_

"_I know, but what if there's no doctor around there? Sweetie, check the trunk and see if we brought enough Xigris." He was already rifling through the cabinets.  
_

"_There'll be doctors there. It's not like we'll be in the middle of nowhere."  
_

"_I know..." Nathan pulled the protein C pills off of a shelf. The label showed a young woman, smiling and apparently thrilled that her organ failure was being treated with 'only the best anti-thrombotic, anti-inflammatory serine protease!' as the slogan promised. Nathan felt a sudden urge to tear the label off and throw the woman's wide-smiling face in the trash. Marni's hand on his arm stopped him, however. She looked up at him with her huge, beautiful blue eyes and Nathan felt his heart melt all over again.  
_

"_I'll be okay, Nate," she promised. "We've been planning this trip for almost a year. I, for one, am not going to let a little sickness get in the way."  
_

_Nathan pulled her in and they shared a kiss. "Fine," he conceded as they pulled apart. He searched her eyes for a moment, before swallowing his worry and matching her smile. "But you have to tell me the moment you start feeling tired."  
_

"_I will," Marni promised.  
_

Suddenly, a ringing awoke Nathan rudely from his daydream. He groaned. It was probably Resa again, phoning to see if he was alright. He didn't get to the phone in time, but managed to message her back and assure her that he was safe. He lied and told her that he was cleaning the study instead of what he was actually doing – sitting there. Thinking about his dead wife. The activity was far too familiar.

After the phone call and a few more minutes of sitting quietly, he was elated to discover that the memory was still there and waiting.

"_It's beautiful," Marni whispered, snuggling closer to him.  
_

_Nathan had his arm wrapped around her as they sat on the picnic blanket, and he resisted the urge to say some incredibly cheesy line in response. Instead, he said, "Do you think you would ever want to move here? When I'm retired, I mean. And we're both old and wrinkly." They sat on top of a grassy hill, bathed in the warm golden hue of the setting sun. A moment ago a spectrum of purples and pinks had lit up the summer sky and lined the clouds in brilliance, but now the colors were quickly fading as night cast its shadow over the rolling hills. They had to drive two hours to find this valley, which for some reason the smog and pollution of Crucifixus and surrounding cities had left untouched.  
_

_Marni laughed. "You can get old and wrinkly, but not me. Never."  
_

_Nathan grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that. But don't worry, I'll still love you when all your teeth have fallen out and you leave your glasses in the fridge."  
_

_Marni pushed him playfully, and he pushed her playfully back. Soon they were rolling down the hill, laughing and shouting and tickling each other like teenagers. They tumbled into a heap at the bottom, where their ticking and pushing turned into more.  
_

"_Do you really think … I'll be around that long?" Marni managed through a gasp as Nathan's hands traveled over her body in the long grass.  
_

"_I know so," Nathan said, with as much conviction as he could muster. "That disease isn't going to take any part of you away from me." He kissed her neck. "It's not welcome here." His lips trailed down her skin and found her collar bone. "It's not welcome here." He whispered. _

_As his mouth trailed lower, Marni squealed. "And if it tries to take this part of you," Nathan growled, "Then it better be afraid, because I'm not giving it up in a million years."  
_

_When Marni fell asleep in the grass with her head on his chest, Nathan stared up at the stars. That night was when he made the promise. He wouldn't let the disease take his wife. Nathan would do everything he possibly could, as a friend, a husband, and a surgeon, to cast the vile thing from her body. Then they could be old and wrinkled together, staring at the sunset again, with a wealth of happy years behind them._

xxx

The caffeine pills propped Resa up long enough to drag home a few pieces of med stuff, but she didn't enjoy the search as much as she usually did. Too much was on her mind, too much to worry about. She filled her backpack with a few things, some good dials and metal boxes and things that weren't too corroded with rust to save, and even an old portable x-ray machine. The thing she was excited about, however, was a tall, wide, immensely colorful machine that did absolutely nothing. After wheeling it home, she plugged it in in the garage, but nothing happened. Resa couldn't figure out what it was, but it looked old. Really, really old, and some kind of discs were inside. There was too much grime collected for her to see anything, but it looked pretty when she wiped off the outside. She'd clean it later, she promised herself, and figure out what it did. But she badly needed sleep.

Taking a deep breath, she wiggled the door open and quietly shut it behind her. She didn't call for Nathan just in case, and suddenly worried that something had happened while she was out. She shouldn't have taken the extra time to wheel home that damned contraption, whatever it was, she reprimanded herself, moving noisily through the old house, alerting Nathan to her presence without seeming like she was looking for him. What if they were hiding somewhere, watching her? She dropped her helmet hard onto the counter, making a crashing sound. He wasn't in the lab, or the cellar. He didn't seem to be responding to her noises. He probably knew that GeneCo was watching, she thought, paranoia racking her sleep-deprived brain, and maybe they were here and he was hiding somewhere she hadn't thought of. He was intelligent. There would certainly at least be a mess, maybe some blood if he'd been taken.

She was so tired. Maybe if she just slept... her brain could start working properly, and she could find Nathan. She felt so distant that she wasn't even distraught with panic. Shouldn't she be acting normal anyway, in case they were watching? Wouldn't a normal person sleep after a day like hers? Just a little nap. She'd even set her alarm.

Resa was pretty sure her eyes were closed before she even stumbled into her bedroom, and she was asleep before her body hit the bed like a brick.


	18. Chapter 18

The clatter from downstairs awoke Nathan from a dream he didn't realize he had been having. Blinking in the light, he forgot for a moment what time it was, and panic took him over. Were they here? The people Resa had warned him about? But then he looked at his watch and felt foolish. Resa must have just gotten home now. Perhaps she had to stay late for an extra surgery.

Still, he scrambled quickly out of her room and into his own, hoping not to run into her. Why had he even gone into her room in the first place? He couldn't remember.

Resa trudged upstairs and into her room without even stopping by his door, which struck Nathan as odd. She usually stopped to say hello. Worried that she was upset over the way he had responded to her that morning, he padded back to her room after her, another apology hovering on his lips. Resa was so good to him. She didn't deserve to be treated like that, even if he was having a nightmare.

But when he peered into her room, he saw that she had passed out on the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers over herself. Seeing her curled up, still in her scrubs, her tangle of hair falling across her pillow, Nathan again felt protective of her. He also felt another memory flicker at the edges of his consciousness. Resa reminded him of someone other than his wife, but he couldn't remember who.

He crossed her room and pulled the blanket over her that before had been kicked to the edge of the bed, part of it tumbling onto the floor. A symptom of a restless night. Why had he not noticed this before? He pulled the covers up to Resa's chin, and she murmured something softly as he did so. It almost sounded like his name. Nathan sat down on lightly the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from her face. She hardly moved at all, now deep in sleep. Nathan stayed there a minute longer, feeling helpless, protective, and nostalgic all at once. And there was a deeper emotion that stirred within him as he gazed at Resa's sleeping form, but he decided it was only affection.

Only. Anything more would be- what? Betrayal? Marni wanted him to be happy, didn't she? Then why couldn't he seem to let go? Nathan shook his head. He watched the slight rise-and-fall of the blanket as the surGEN breathed lightly, lost in a dream. And there was Resa. She deserved better. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that he, a _mass murderer_- a sudden jolt of self-hatred took him with such force that he forgot to breathe for a moment- could actually care and provide for someone like her. It just wasn't possible. In the fairy tales, the prince slays the beast and marries the princess. The princess and beast don't fall for one another. It just doesn't happen.

Nathan shook these troubled thoughts from his head, suddenly noticing the dirt and oil that coated the lines in Resa's palms. She had probably been at the junkyard again. Good. He needed something to distract himself from his own troubling thoughts, so he headed to the garage to see what she had found.

Resa had mentioned her junkyard raids before, proudly showing him various bits and pieces around the house, some which served a purpose like the paperweight on her desk, and some which were pure decoration.

He eagerly stepped into the garage, flicking on the light. The bulb was old. That was another thing he could fix while Resa was away. He had to make himself useful, after all.

Various pieces of metal, including two shiny hubcaps, were piled in a corner. Nathan recognized an old x-ray machine that had been very similar to the model he had used when he worked as a surGEN. The thing that caught his eye the most stood quietly near the back of the pile against the wall. It was covered with dirt, but he realized what it was instantly. It was shaped like a large rectangle with a rounded top, and a string of green and blue lights ran around the edges of it. It was a jukebox. His grandfather had owned one.

Nathan approached it, feeling a sense of deep sorrow at the state it was in. The lights weren't working even though Resa had plugged it in, and the window in the front was layered with grime. Suddenly Nathan knew what he would do. He set to work in an instant.

xxx

Resa was tumbling through frighteningly vivid shades of blue and green and purple, like lightning and clouds that pummeled her body. Rocking, swaying, falling, she couldn't stop herself. _Time is running out_, someone kept saying. _Time is running out_. She heard the voice behind her, but couldn't turn around. Her feet were glued to the floor, and suddenly she realized the colors were rushing past her, not the other way around.

Something was clutched in her hand. A brush? A Z gun? She couldn't tell. Was her name even Resa? _Time is running out._ With a dragging effort, one that consumed every muscle and made her movements as if in torturous slow motion, she turned around, but no one was there. The colors drummed at her in a terrifying rhythm. _Time is running out. Time is running out. Time is running out._

Suddenly it was Bea in front of her, hair long and dark like when she was younger. Her face was full again, and though a flush was in her cheeks her expression was one of dead, empty seriousness. Resa tried to reach out to her, to call her name, but she was frozen. _Time is running out._ The words were floating from Bea's mouth in a mist. Resa began crying. She finally shouted Bea's name, but her sister just stared at her, with that terrible, sad expression. Her huge eyes shimmered with tears and hatred. _Resa ... time is running out._

"I can't save you, Bea!" Resa yelled, falling to the ground. It was cold on her knees. "I can't save you!"

_Time is up._

Then the girl was gone, and Resa was left grasping at air. She looked in front of her to find the girl on the ground, suddenly emaciated and white, blank eyes staring. Blood was seeping from her stomach, filling the ground, filling the air with red. Resa screamed, sobbing, tried to grasp the girl, but she only moved away like on a belt. Frustration filled her, cold, desperate frustration. Resa clasped her hands to her mouth, only to find a scalpel in one, dripping with...

And then hands were on her shoulders, white hands, veined hands, lifting her to her feet, turning her. It was her mother, eyes sunken and empty and hair floating around her. Resa could see the glowing blue traveling through her blood, through her veins that popped out. A gaping, horribly familiar slash went from her shoulder to her stomach, and blood attacked Resa again. She couldn't breathe. _You did this, Resa._ Her mother moaned, slurred in an echo. _Time is up._

No. No! _No!_

"No!" Resa shouted, sitting up roughly, holding the blanket in a death grip to her chest. She was covered in a cold sweat that soaked through her scrubs. Her breathing was ragged. The dream seemed so vivid, and she could still feel her mother's hands on her shoulders. Shuddering, she wiped her face in the blankets and fell back, trying to rid herself of the horrible feelings.

Where was she? What time was it? Where was Nathan? She grabbed her clock from the nightstand and wondered at the time. Had she really been asleep for seven hours? Resa groaned, trying to go back to the dark, empty sleep she'd started with, but she was too shaken by the nightmare. She sat up unwillingly, closing the door and peeling off her damp clothes. She pulled on a nightie and socks to ward off the cold wooden floor and wandered out into the hallway again. Where was Nathan?

The shakes from the dream were wearing off now, and though she still felt the unbelievable guilt, she could shake it off. She decided to wash her face before going on her quest, and plodded into the bathroom. It was after splashing water and rubbing her eyes sleepily that she heard the noises, like thumping. What the hell?

Quickly she patted her face dry and went back out. In the hallway the thumping turned into music, muffled and quiet, but it was music. Slowly she moved down the hallway, more and more curious. She didn't have anything that played music, especially upstairs ... no radio, nothing. She'd tossed it all. But it was there, clear and jumpy - some kind of pure, unrecognizable instruments instead of the electro music and amped guitars that had replaced them some decades before. It was coming from the study, she decided, and moved to open the door. It was really, really bright inside.

"Oh, hey, sleepyhead," Nathan smiled as Resa stepped into the room, squinting in the colored lights. Although she had changed her clothes, he could tell that she just woke up. A fleeting thought of how her body would feel in his arms, warm and soft with sleep, made Nathan flush. He turned around to hide his embarrassment and fiddled with the buttons of the machine.

"What is it?" came Resa's tentative voice behind him.

"It's a jukebox," Nathan answered. Glancing behind his shoulder he could tell that the confusion on her face was evident. "It's like a radio, except it plays CD's."

"Huh?"

Nathan smiled. "CD's are small discs that hold music. People used to buy them." He didn't doubt that through all of Resa's life music had been only digital, and for her to see something like this must have been strange. Her next thought confirmed his suspicions.

"But they're so big. How do you fit them all in your pocket?"

"They don't go in your pocket. Or in an AudioCo," he said, naming the microscopic chip that some people had attached to their ears, like a tiny hearing aid, that would play music which fit the user's mood according to electrical pulses in the brain.

He chose an ancient CD, which looked as if it would crumble to pieces if the machine didn't handle it carefully. Soon the music of the Beatles filled the study. Nathan grinned at Resa's growing puzzlement. "I had to move it up here because the outlets downstairs didn't have three prongs. I also cleaned and fixed it up a bit. And this is the only room where there's enough space for what I had in mind." He smiled and held out his hand to Resa. "Care to dance?"

"Wh-what?" squeaked Resa, looking at his hand doubtfully. With Nathan in the room it was a lot harder to be affected by the nightmare, but he couldn't be serious. Her? Dancing? The most awkwardly moving human being on the planet? Dancing? That was for Blind Mag, and Sarai Hartfeld, and Leana Ho Griffith. Performers. Not surGENs, especially clumsily-footed ones like her.

"Dance," Nathan repeated, giving her the worst possible puppy eyes, paired with the most heartwarming smile, possible at that moment. Her heart melted a bit at the sight. "With me. To music."

"I ... I don't dance, Nate. At all. Ever. Are you ... are you serious?"

"Well, I wouldn't say 'serious'..."

"Have you seen me walk? I'm like an elephant. With tiny feet. And a poor sense of balance." She laughed at the prospect, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Do you really expect me to say yes?"

"No," Nathan walked over to her, and Resa's heart jumped a bit when he took her hand. "I expect you'll keep refusing, but I expect I'll spin you and twirl you and _force_ you to dance until you're sufficiently swept off your feet, literally or no. And then you'll dance because you want to." A suave little smile playing on his face, Nathan lifted her hand to his lips, and butterflies struck her stomach.

"I hope you don't charm women like you get them to dance," she said cheekily, working to keep her tone level, and his smile flew into a grin.

"I never had to."

And suddenly Resa was spinning, hand in his, seemingly to her doom. She let out a little shriek as he caught her, and she felt the warmth of his hand through the back of her nightie. Before she could enjoy the touch she was moving again, stumbling and twirling awkwardly, and then her back was pressed against him.

"Move with me," he instructed, sounding happy. "Not against me."

"That's kind of hard in this position," she complained, and he chuckled before pushing her away again. Then his arm was around her waist and her hand was in his again, and she had some idea what was happening now.

"Hand on my shoulder."

She did as she was told, feeling some kind of emotion fluttering up through her throat. It turned into a nervous laugh. She'd forgotten how soft his eyes were, how curved his mouth, and she was suddenly so distracted with his face that her feet became tangled and he caught her. "Easy," he laughed. "You'll get the hang of it."

A sudden awareness of how close they were, how tightly he held her up, made the music become transparent and she couldn't hear it anymore. Nathan had a struggling look on his face. She hadn't ever wanted anything like she wanted him to kiss her, and the feeling was so strong she forgot to be embarrassed. And to breathe.

"Resa...?"

"Yeah?"

"This is really hard for me to do..."

"I know, me too."

"...when you're..."

"It's okay."

"...standing on my foot."

"Oh!" She leapt away with astounding agility. Her face burned like a beacon, and the music was loud in her ears again. "Sorry!"

It took half a moment before Nathan's light, happy smile came back.


	19. Chapter 19

As they danced, slowly at first so Resa could get the hang of it, Nathan couldn't help but be swept away into a torrent of memory. He and Marni had danced like this, so many times. Once at the party where they first met. Once on the day she told him she had denied Rotti. And once in the cool night air and under the starlight the day they were married. It was all so vivid, and so familiar. Marni was in his arms again now, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than tilt his head down and match his lips to hers.

But this wasn't his wife. He was dancing with Resa. Beautiful, compassionate, albeit awkward and silly Resa. And the same emotions that he had felt for his late wife surged through his veins as he held the surGEN, her small body pressed against his. She smelled like soap. He still wanted to kiss her, if not even more now. But-

He winced as she stepped on his foot. Resa was embarrassed and leaped away as soon as he mentioned it, a guilty look on her face.

"It's okay," Nathan laughed. "Besides, you are doing really well for your first time."

"Yeah." She didn't look like she believed him, but she shared his smile.

As Resa twirled in his arms, more and more gracefully as the music wore on, Nathan felt a bubbly feeling rise in his chest. He didn't recognize it at first, but when he did he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"What?" Resa said, slightly offended. He had no doubt that she thought he was laughing at her dancing abilities.

"I'm happy," he said, as they moved through the music. "I'm really, really happy."

Resa shared his smile. "Me too."

"It's been awhile since I danced, Marni." Nathan said, not realizing his mistake until it was too late. Resa froze with her arms around his shoulders, her wide brown eyes looking hurt.

"I-I'm sorry … it was a mistake," Nathan stuttered, wishing that he hadn't opened his mouth. He always messed things up. He wanted desperately to go back to a minute ago, when they were lost in the melodies of _Strawberry Fields Forever_, with Resa in his arms, and he felt as if everything was going to be okay. But instead the fantasy had screeched to an abrupt halt, and Resa dropped her hands to her sides, stepping away from him.

Resa's heart dropped sharply, and she looked up into Nathan's face. He'd been so happy ... but he hadn't been dancing with her. He'd been dancing with Marni Wallace. Wife. Deceased. Age 24. Killed by the chemical HCN.

"Resa..." she said slowly. "I'm Resa."

How could she have been so stupid? He could never be happy with her. She could never be the woman he loved, and would obviously continue loving for the rest of his life. But ... he didn't have to string her along. Make her dance with him and feel things. Make her feel like she was worth something.

"You've got to stop, Nate," Resa told him disparagingly, uselessly lifting a hand. She laughed slightly hysterically. She was such an _idiot_. "You're either here or you're not. Make up your mind."

She couldn't look at him anymore. It was just a painful reminder of the moment that almost happened, that was _so close_ to happening, that would never happen. Fuck all of this. She just couldn't.

He didn't follow her when she turned tail and left, closing the door behind her. The music followed her like a shadow down the stairs, and she noisily scraped her backpack off of the table by the door. It clanged with metal and she concentrated on the noise as she swept to the lab.

Every ounce of sleep was gone, replaced with irritation and disappointment and guilt. She locked the door behind her and dumped the junk out on Nathan's bed, not bothering to sweep away the dirt and loose rust that came with it. She turned on the television to tune out her thoughts, but the noise bothered her after a while and it went black again.

She didn't know what to do. She'd just walked out. She couldn't concentrate on the gadgets on the bed, however hard she tried. Irritation filled her too completely. One piece was a part she'd needed for the life support machine she'd had Nathan on, so she shoved it away from the wall and pried off the back panel, letting it crash to the floor. She shouldn't work when she was this flustered, she'd ruin something, she knew. But she had to. Dust clouded up and she wiped it away, feeling the dirt on her hands smudge her nose and the rust smear. It was hard to keep from weeping with frustration, but it was so silly. _It's not worth the tears, you moron,_ she told herself.

Nathan would never think of her that way. And she didn't expect him to, really. Why would he? Because she'd _saved_ him? Did she go falling for the surGEN who'd worked on her? She didn't even remember his name! Did her patients always fall in love with her? No! She was so stupid!

She should've known. She knew it had been a while since his wife died, but Christ. What kind of person was she? She was taking advantage of him, and she deserved what she'd gotten. In anger, she threw the wrench at the back of the machine, wanting to push it over and destroy something.

Fuck all of this.

xxx

Nathan watched, helpless, as Resa raced from the room and ran down the stairs. His arms already felt strangely lonely, with only cold air between them now instead of a laughing Resa. He gazed forlornly at the door for a moment, before cursing to himself. "Damn it, Nate. This is your fault. It's always your fault." He heard the door slam downstairs.

The music played on, now mocking him with its mellow, happy melody. Nathan switched it off. He wasn't very angry, just tired. He was tired of having everything in his life slip away from him. Resa was supposed to be that one thing that worked out. The one thing in his crazy mixed-up life that could love him no matter what.

Love? Did he just use that word? Nathan felt a pang of guilt, before a memory hit him with full force. It was a part of the last picnic that he had forgotten until now.

_He and Marni had been packing up their things in the trunk to go home that night when she turned to him. Her eyes were reflected by starlight, her breath warm on his face as she suddenly pulled him close. He only had time to set down a medical bag in the back when her hands grasped the sides of his head and forced him to look at her. The gaze in Marni's eyes was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and he held his breath, feeling like she was about to share with him something very important.  
_

_"Nate, I have something to say to you," she said, enunciating each syllable with a heavy seriousness. For a fleeting moment, Nathan felt a cold panic in his heart as it occurred to him that she might be under-exaggerating the severity of her illness. They might have weeks, instead of a year like he thought. Marni shook her head, as if she knew what he was thinking. "It's not that. I want you to know that if I don't make it..."  
_

_"Marni-" Nathan rushed to protest, but she ignored him, her hands sliding from the sides of his face to grip him fiercely by the arms.  
_

_"Listen to me Nate. I want you to know that if I don't make it, I want you to be happy. I don't want you to just exist without me by your side, I want you to live."  
_

_Nathan could sense what she was getting to, and protests rose in his throat like sobs.  
_

_"Nathan," She said, "If you find the right woman... what I'm saying is, it's okay." She gripped him so tightly that he could feel the pulse in her hands. Marni let out a hiccupping sob, and Nathan encircled his arms around her, feeling as if his heart was breaking.  
_

_Marni waited until both their breathing was steady again, and she looked him in the eyes. "I don't want you to forget about me, Nathan. But I don't want you to live the rest of your life waiting for me, either." _

Nathan stood at the top of the steps, gasping sharply as he remembered. The first thought he had was of the woman who had locked herself in her lab downstairs. "Resa!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, flying down the steps. He arrived at the bottom and pounded on the door, louder and faster than necessary. "Resa! Open up!" His voice was cracking with breathless exultation. "I need to talk to you!"

"I have nothing to say back to you!" Resa shouted back, throwing the part down. Suddenly she was angry at him again, because she knew that if she wasn't, she'd forgive him and be sweet again, and they'd go back to normal where she spoonfed him soup with a side of perfectly roasted lies and he imagined she was his dead wife and was happy. "You're such a ... such a..." But she couldn't think of any name he deserved. "A jerk!" she decided finally, feeling like a child, and picked up the wrench again.

"Resa, I..." Nathan felt helpless as her words hit him. The insult wasn't the worst thing in the world to be called, but it was the anger and hurt behind it that tore at his heart. He hadn't really used Resa, had he? An image of that morning crossed his mind, when the surGEN was hovering over him and she bore a striking resemblance to his wife, if only in his hopeful imagination.

Okay. So he had exaggerated, a little. And that exaggeration had cost him dreadfully. Nathan heard a crash in the room followed by a string of curses.

"Are you okay?" He called though the door, but Resa only shouted back, "Go away!"

"I know you're mad." Nathan continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "And I'm sorry. I guess sometimes I was lying to myself, pretending you were Marni. But... that's just another one of the reasons I like you. I guess in a few ways you remind me of her, but then every once and awhile you'll say something or look at me like I'm the only man in the world. And then it takes all my effort to remember to breathe again. And that scares me."

"So you only liked me for who you could pretend I was," came the bitter conclusion through the door.

Nathan felt a sudden surge of frustration, and he raised his voice. "Look, this isn't easy for me. Do you know how many people I've dated since Marni died? None. Not one single person." Even as he spoke the words he knew them to be true. "And then all of a sudden you come into my life and teach me to be happy again, and I'm supposed act perfectly?" He was shouting now, because anger made it easier to hide all the other emotions surging through him. "In case you haven't noticed, this is kind of out of my comfort zone. Give me a break, for God's sake."

"And you think I'm an expert in dating?" Resa shouted back. "Who would ever want to go out with a fuck-up like me? I'm such a mess I'm pretty sure they have complexes named after me." She tossed the tool away again, not having used it at all, and dropped her head against the wall. "Why don't you just pretend I'm Marni forever, and I'll pretend you actually care? I'm sure it would be easier for us both!"

She felt incredible selfish for yelling at him, but the anger pulsing through her was real now, not forced. How self-absorbed could you get? "Stop trying to make me feel bad for you, as well!" she shouted some more, because it felt better to shout. She didn't believe a word she was saying, but being mad was easy. She hadn't been mad for years. "I have a right to be angry here! I didn't call you my dead sister by accident, did I?"

"No, because I don't remind you of her!" Nathan shouted, pounding the door for emphasis. "You don't understand! You didn't just wake up from a coma to learn that your wife and child have been dead for seventeen years. You're not plagued with guilt and grief even to this day. You don't have to feel like you're doing something wrong if you find someone attractive. I think _you_ should stop being so self-centered." Nathan paused for a moment, so angry he could hardly speak. "Now open this goddamn door!"

"_I'm_ being self-centered?" shouted Resa in an appalled tone. She climbed to her feet, kicking the machine closed and stomping to the door. "Here's something you should know, Nathan Williams! I don't care if you're the bloody president of the world, you don't get to judge me! You're not the one risking your life running around, trying to save a complete stranger from himself and every god damned thing around him because he won't stay in bed like a sane person! You're not the one who's got to live with a man who gives you heart palpitations every five minutes, but who doesn't even realize you're female because he's hung up on his long-dead wife! You don't have to pretend to be normal when he asks you questions, or smile when he talks about your mother who you killed! And you damned well don't have to watch him, knowing that he'll never look at you without looking at the person he loved, and will never kiss you because of her, and will never care about you for who you are, because you're the same gender as the first one!"

With the last furious word, Resa ripped the door open, ready to tear into him some more. "And another thing-"

Nathan kissed her before she could say another word. He was standing at the door consumed with anger one minute and then she opened it and he stepped forward without thinking, wrapping one arm around her waist and another behind her head, burying his fingers in her soft coiled hair and leaning down to press his lips to hers. For once not a thought or a doubt raced through his head, only a delirious excitement as he embraced her. Resa's lips were soft and yielding and perfect, just as he imagined them to be, but it seemed like ages before her body, rigid in surprise, melted into his like she was made to fit. All the anger and doubt and guilt evaporated from Nathan in an instant, and he felt a rush of pure joy electrify his senses. Time seemed to slow to a stop. He was kissing Resa. Resa, the surGEN. Resa, the one who had helped him get well again with the most care and concern he had even known one person to possess. Resa, who laughed at his jokes, no matter how cheesy they were, and always had a few equally cheesy ones of her own. Resa, the one thing in the world still worth living for.

Resa didn't know anything. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Her legs wouldn't move and shock waves coursed through her body. She could only think about Nathan, her Nathan, his hands, his lips. Oh God, his lips. The lips she'd dreamed about. She didn't even know it, but she had. The anger and frustration she felt suddenly turned into raw passion and her hands were in his hair, and it was soft, and his hands were traveling on her back, and she couldn't think a single word. It was her Nathan. Her Nathan was kissing her, and it was amazing. She felt surreal, like she was watching herself and this beautiful, incredible man. It was the epitome of... She couldn't think of anything. It was the epitome of epitomes. It was the most. It was the best.

"Resa," he murmured, and her heart leaped at the sound. Resa. He was kissing Resa. Not Marni. Not anyone else. And it felt beautiful.

She shook her head, not letting him talk, or explain, or do anything besides wrap his arms around her. The way he held her, the way their bodies molded together, was perfect. Everything just felt right, and good. She still couldn't comprehend a thing. Then he broke away, slowly, and she looked up at him, admiring the way his eyelashes curled on his cheeks and the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. Resa finally breathed deeply, reveling in the way his warm hands felt on her back. They just breathed, looking at each other, in and out, and she tried to register what had just happened.

"Nathan," she whispered, afraid to break the spell.

"Don't..."

"Nate, you're..."

"Resa..."

"...standing on my foot."

"Oh!" Nathan almost tripped over his own feet stepping back in embarrassment. He blushed, feeling suddenly shy towards the woman before him that he had just shared such an intimate moment with. It just occurred to him that the house was empty except for the two of them, and they were standing alone in his bedroom.

It seemed like the thought had occurred to Resa at the same time, as she dropped her gaze to the floor, an adorable, flustered smile playing across her lips, followed by a little laugh. She was blushing too, and her freckles disappeared into an ocean of pale skin that traveled all the way down her neck and vanished under the collar of her shirt.

Nathan put a hand up to his face and then looked around, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable as his imagination kicked into overdrive.

"Nate?"

He risked a glance in Resa's direction and then crossed the room past her in a few quick steps, stuffing clenched fists into his pockets. It took all his effort not to go to her again, but he didn't trust himself to just kiss her. She had felt so incredible against him.

"I think I, uh..." Nathan struggled to shut down his imagination. He said the first thing that he could think of. "How about some soup?"

Resa laughed loudly, still feeling like she was floating, face beet red. She was still short of breath. _You're a grown woman,_ she told herself. With another flutter in her stomach, she lifted a hand to her swollen lips and touched them. She could still feel Nathan on them, could still taste the warmth of his lips. "Aren't you done with soup?" she asked, trying to speak articulately as she swayed. It was slow-going, but the words eventually made it out.

"Not yours."

She smiled. She knew he didn't actually want the food. She was just as nervous as he was, and didn't want him to think otherwise. The only thing she could think about was his embrace, though, and his eyes, and his lips, and the way he'd looked after pulling away, hair tousled and eyes dark with longing. God, she was in too deep.

With a sigh she crossed to where Nate stood and took his hand, placing it on her cheek and closing her eyes. She wanted to feel like this forever. "I'm sorry for what I said," she murmured, pressing into his warm palm. "I'm glad you shut me up."

He laughed, and she enjoyed the sound. She was still having trouble registering what had happened. But he was happy, and she was happy, and she felt terrible for being angry before.

"Do you ... d'you want to help me with the soup?" she asked suddenly, not sure what was supposed to come next.

"Sure," Nathan smiled, looking grateful.

"Just so you know," Resa said seriously, "you can't just kiss me every time I'm angry with you and expect instant forgiveness. This is a one-time deal."

Nathan laughed as she turned to leave, but he took her hand and pulled her back. Resa looked up at him, question in her eyes.

"You're not Marni," he told her. "You're Resa."

Her stomach flipped at the look in his eyes, and she nodded, trying not to show how much the small sentiment meant. She knew it took a lot of effort for him to do any of this.

"And you're Nathan," she said with a teasing smile, and then trailed off before she could stop herself, "…My Nathan."

She looked down, suddenly embarrassed, but found herself enveloped in his arms warmly. "I can live with that," he breathed into her hair. She enjoyed the embrace for a few minutes, loving the feel of his arms, and lips on the top of her head.

"Soup?" she asked again. She felt him nod.

"Soup."


	20. Chapter 20

The soup was delicious, of course. Nathan tried to assist Resa, but he was more of a bother than a help because he was constantly teasing her. Once when she was stirring the pot he snuck up behind her and tickled her, and she had to swat him away with a kitchen towel.

Nathan couldn't help it. He was just in too much of a good mood. Resa didn't even mention her worries about the thief at all over dinner, and they laughed and talked like old friends. It was almost too good to be true. He felt as if he were in a dream, and he almost expected someone to pinch him and he would wake up. Resa did pinch him once, to get revenge for the tickling, but of course nothing resulted from that other than him ticking her more.

As the evening drew to a close and the night rolled out its carpet of starlight over Crucifixus, Nathan realized something.

"It never came back today," he said slowly.

Resa moved to look at him, blinking sleepily from where she was curled up to his side. "Hmm?"

They were sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. The movie they were watching had ended, and now some obnoxious infomercial was trying to convince them to buy a can-opener. The volume was turned down but the announcer's voice still rose and fell in deep undertones though the quiet house.

For a split second Nathan hesitated. Resa didn't need to know everything about what was going on in his head. It would only worry her. Besides, he was an incredible liar; she wouldn't suspect a thing. But then he saw the concern in her soft brown eyes, and he decided to continue. She deserved to know what she was getting into.

"The thing in my head. The Repo thing I tried to tell you about after... the accident." He felt a pang of regret for bringing up such a terrible memory that was still fresh in both their minds, but Resa just snuggled closer to him, and he put his arm around her. She closed her eyes and sighed sleepily. Nathan stared at the TV for a moment, where a young woman with a blonde perm was demonstrating that the can-opener could even cut through reinforced steel. Why anyone would can their pears in reinforced steel, Nathan couldn't fathom. The woman kind of reminded him of the one on the protein C bottle as they both had the same artificially whitened smiles that looked too big for their faces.

"I had a dream last night," Nathan said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The woman on the television had cut herself by accident.

"Actually, I think it might have been a memory."

The woman's hand was bleeding, and the dark liquid was trickling down a shiny sheet of steel. Her face was pale as she asked someone off camera for a band-aid.

"There was a teenager... he couldn't have been more than fifteen."

The blood was gushing now, and the wound had grown to a gruesomely-sized gash that opened her entire hand.

Nathan shut his eyes for a moment and opened them again, sure he was imagining things. The woman's lipsticked mouth was gaping as she screamed, but no sound could be heard over the announcer's dark voice, which had turned thick and gravelly.

"I..." Nathan struggled to form words as he stared at the spectacle, hardly aware of what he was saying. "It's like an infected limb. If you don't cut it off soon, it will spread its poison to the rest of the body. Only... how do you cut off your thoughts?"

The woman shrieked on screen. For some reason she was naked now, and her white skin was covered with deep, bloody gashes. Blood poured from her mouth as she tried to speak, her words mangled as she choked and spat through the gore, her face a twisted mask of terror.

Nathan bolted awake, breathing hard. It took a moment for him to gather his senses as he looked around and blinked in the dark. He was sitting in the living room on the couch, and the infomercial was ending. The woman was still there, her body intact, the fake smile shining brightly on her uninjured face. Resa stirred at his side, mumbling something in her sleep. Nathan's breathing slowed, and he encircled Resa gently in his arms and bent his head to her.

"It's okay," he whispered into her bushy hair. She didn't wake up. "I'll protect you from whatever I have to. Even if it's only in my head."

xxx

The stars are out, Resa noted as she strode down the long hallway, looking up at the sky-filled ceiling. She hadn't seen stars in a long time. The night was calm and warm, and she slipped out of the white med jacket that she was swathed in. Underneath was a black gown with long sleeves. She couldn't remember why she'd dressed in it, but rather liked the sleek look that hid her getting-old fat, and admired it in the mirrors that surrounded her. She was spinning and swaying, and her eyes were closed but she could still see colors, and the lights that winked in and out. And suddenly something stopped her, and Resa stood still. Closing her eyes against the suddenly painfully bright lights, something pulled her forward. And she looked, and at the end of the hallway was a small figure.

"Beatrice?" she asked slowly, hesitantly. The little girl smiled, and shrugged.

"It's okay," she whispered, and Resa could hear her even though she was so far away. "It's okay to be happy."

"But ... I can't let go, Bea."

"Lucie," Bea whispered encouragingly. "You don't have to let go. Just don't hang on."

The torrent of emotions that whipped around her head was overwhelming, and she felt herself beginning to sob. "I love you, Bea," she cried out. Bea only smiled.

"That doesn't mean you're not allowed to love him, too," the little girl nodded behind Resa, raven hair floating around her. Bea reached up and wrapped a tendril around her finger, and pulled. The hair moved like in water, and with it, the image of her sister slowly twisted into nothing. _I love you, sister,_ the whisper echoed around Resa, and a dry sob pushed from her throat.

Something made her turn, and at the other end of the corridor was Nathan, looking exactly like he had that day. Ruffled hair, cardigan mussed, a smile playing on his lips. She hadn't seen that smile enough.

"Come along," he told her, raising a hand towards Resa.

"Where?"

He only smiled, taking her hand and kissing it, and pulled her into a slow, dreamy waltz. As she looked at Nathan, she could feel Bea's smile on her.

_Wake up._

And suddenly she blinked out of sleep, taking a moment to realize where she was. Nathan's arm had drifted around her shoulders, and he was dead asleep beside her. She looked at him, trying to picture him younger again for some reason. It was harder than earlier in the day. She liked to see him this way. Then his hand fell to her cheek and her heart fluttered, and she rested her chin on his chest, unable to take her eyes off of his face. She was still in a daze, unable to believe what had happened. How was it possible that this amazing man, who was so terrible and such a prat, yet the best thing that had ever happened to her, was hers? It was unfathomable.

"I'll make you better," she promised his sleeping form, lying her head under his again.

xxx

"No, no, God, you're an idiot," Luigi spat. The willowy blonde woman before him would have shrunk back in her chair if she wasn't already cringing as far back as possible. For some reason he only felt angrier that his assistant, who'd always been so steadfast and uncringing, was afraid of him now. He always wished she'd be less accepting and happy when he yelled at her, so why wasn't he satisfied now?

Luigi resisted an urge to throw his hot coffee in her face, but only because Pavi was there. His brother grinned as he sprawled in a chair, his legs lazily draped across the desk. Luigi made the mistake of mentioning his plan to Pavi, who instantly volunteered to help. His willingness to help was probably caused more by the fact that he knew GeneCo wouldn't fare well with some of their employees tortured or killed for fun, more than actual interrogation.

Luigi perched on the corner of the desk, setting his coffee down and crossing his arms. "I meant, did you see anything suspicious _that night? _Were any surGENs or Genterns acting strangely? More specifically, did you see what happened to the Repo Man's body?"

The gentern looked at him with wide grey eyes. They were pretty eyes. If Amber was here she would probably be jealous.

"No, sir," she said, still too confident in her answers. Her teeth were very white, the front two larger than the rest. "I wasn't working with his body. I didn't see it in the pile though." She hesitated.

"What?" Luigi leaned forward. "Say what you have to say or I'll see if my knife can fit in the space between your eyes."

There were always guns to use, of course. But knives were more Luigi's style. The woman still didn't say anything, staring at the blade, and Pavi had to nudge her.

"Asha," he prodded. Luigi glared at him.

She looked up into Pavi's face, away from his brother. "I think someone must have taken the body home for research – sir," the blonde said quickly.

"Research?" Luigi wrinkled his brow in confusion. "What kind of a person does something like that?"

Pavi suddenly let out a low whistle. "I know who."

xxx

Resa dropped her bag by her desk, humming as she dropped into the chair and began flipping through the day's surgeries. She was still worried, of course, but it would have been surprising had she come to work without a spring in her step.

"I don't want to go," she'd told Nathan with a pout that morning, forehead slumped on the table as he fetched the cereal and toast.

"Well, you have to," he said, sliding a dish towards her.

"Don't make me. Please don't make me. I wanna stay here."

"Well," he said, looking up at the ceiling as he sipped his tea. "You could, but I feel particularly tickling today, so there's that. All day."

Resa shook her head, dropping her face in her arms. "You're evil," she told him, voice muffled. "Pure evil."

"What can I say?"

She lifted her head high enough to flick an artificially manipulated fruit loop at him, and then dropped it again. It was the last day she ever wanted to work. But GeneCo would get suspicious if she wasn't there, so she'd dragged herself to the bike and up the stairs and to her office, leaving her extra communicator firmly strapped to Nathan's wrist in case of an emergency.

She plunked her heavy boots up on the desk, still turning pages. There was a knock on the door, and she told whoever it was happily to come in. It was Pavi, new face bright and clean, and she smiled at him.

"Hullo, Mr Largo!" she said gaily. "Is there something I can do for you?"

His next words sent her heart plunging and her world crashing around her.

"Good morning, Miss Donell," he said, with a little theatrical wave. "I was wondering if you knew anything about the Repo Man, Nathan Wallace."


	21. Chapter 21

Graverobber stopped dead when he spotted Shilo at the top of the stairs, in front of her dad's office. He stayed frozen for a minute, but she didn't look like she was in much of a position to notice the jacket or Z belt. She just stood there, looking into the open room, and he got the impression she was trying to decide whether to take the leap off of a building. She didn't even realize it when he walked up behind her, or the hand he laid on her shoulder.

"You all right, kitten?" he asked uncertainly. She shook her head and shrugged.

"He completely crippled me," she said in a distant voice, eyes trained inside. "But I can't help miss him."

He nodded, laughing a bit, though nothing was really funny. "Like my parents."

She looked up at him. "You've never mentioned your family, Graves."

"Haven't I? Good. Let's keep it that way." He smirked, putting an arm around her. She leaned into the embrace.

"I don't understand," she said. "It's so unfair. I should hate him. But all I want is for him to come back."

Graverobber didn't say anything. The office looked normal enough to him, maroon and brown and softly lit with orange, filled with books and strange instruments. But for Shilo he was sure it meant a world of memories and feelings and anger and love.

"He wasn't exactly father of the year, Shi," he reminded her. But she shook her head stubbornly, and he felt tears beginning to soak his shirt.

"He was the best. Besides all the poisoning and lying and being obsessed with my mom, I mean. He was the most ... he was the greatest ... I loved him so much, Graves."

"You still love him," Graverobber corrected her, kneeling so she could collapse against him, cling to him like a child, bury her face in the fur of his jacket. "'Those we love never really leave us,' or something like that."

Her laugh, muffled and tangled with sobs, surprised him. "You can be shockingly insightful sometimes, Graverobber," she said, and he wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

"Yeah, well…" he said in lieu of explanation. She held on to him for another good five minutes, quietly crying, messing the matted fur in between her fingers. He desperately wanted to make her feel better, but he was shit at this touchy-feely stuff. He had a feeling she just needed to cry, anyway. She wasn't exactly open about what she was feeling, which he didn't normally complain about. He understood and everything, but feelings were too weird. He hated dealing with them.

Finally Shilo pulled away and seemed to notice his outerwear. "You weren't leaving, were you?" she sniffed, sounding more hurt than angry or disappointed. He wanted to lie, but why else would he be dressed to the nines?

"Yeah," he said. "I feel loads better, and I need to talk to a friend of mine. Is that all right, Princess?"

He called her princess sardonically, but she seemed to like it anyway. She looked at the floor for a long time, still subconsciously playing with the fur collar, and at last murmured, "I guess so. If you're better."

Graverobber nodded, helping her stand. His chest and ankle were beginning to ache from the held position, but he was careful not to let her see how he favored his right leg. He awkwardly said something about his boots and left down the hallway, and she trailed along after him.

"Will you be long?" she asked.

"No more than a couple hours. Nothing like last time."

"What about Amber?"

"Amber Schmamber. She won't do anything. I'll be fine."

"Are you going to the alley? The graveyard?"

"No, no Z runs, I swear. I won't be able to outrun any GENforcers. I just need to talk to a friend."

"A friend or a thief?"

"Jesus, you ask a lot of questions, kid."

"Sorry."

Shilo silently watched him buckle up the boots and followed him to the mausoleum, where they stood awkwardly. Graverobber knew there was a chance he wouldn't return tonight if Amber really was set in her murderous rage, but without proper medical attention he risked infection or oddly repaired bones. That's what had happened to Heron; her bad leg had broken and set wrong, and she'd never gotten it fixed. That's where she got her name; her crooked leg.

"I'll be back tonight," he told Shilo, hoping he wasn't lying. She nodded, looking at the floor. He couldn't stand to see her like that. And what if he didn't come back? He didn't have anything he could give her. Nothing on him meant anything. Sighing, he slipped off the Zydrate belt and strapped it around her waist, trying to ignore her look of surprise and protest.

"Just keep it," he said, and then smiled. "It's the 21st century cure."

The corner of her mouth tugged, but she looked worried. Tears were welling in her eyes again. "Graverobber..."

"Don't worry, I'll be back. Just keep it safe for me." He put a hand in her hobbit hair and kissed her forehead, smiling reassuringly. Before he could leave, though, she held his arm and lifted the necklace off her neck, putting it in his hand. Her mother's necklace.

"Keep that safe for me, then," she said with a watery smile. His heart wrenched, and he wished he didn't have to go. He was so stupid to have peddled the other night. He should have stayed with his little graverobber.

As she fingered the glowing blue vials that hung loosely on her waist, their first encounter sprang into his head. He'd been pulling Zydrate out of a body in the graveyard, and she'd been chasing a moonfly. He'd thought it silly of her. Moonflies were so ridiculously common that it was a waste catching one, unless you wanted it to stop buzzing around you. She'd stopped dead when she saw him and approached slowly, looking at him. He'd pretended to ignore her.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked. It was such a stupid question that he'd laughed, and actually looked up at her.

"For the Zydrate," he'd answered simply.

"What?"

"The Zydrate. What's the matter with you, kid?"

There'd been no reply. He'd continued his harvest, mentally telling her to leave. She'd get him caught and he didn't feel like running. But she didn't. She just hung around watching him, disgusted interest playing her features.

"He's dead, right?" she'd asked. He laughed again.

"No, he's just wrapped in these cloths and lying completely still while I jam this ridiculously huge needle up his nose for fun."

She'd sounded like the sarcasm hurt a bit. He didn't feel bad. Her wig was slightly askew, and he wondered vaguely why she was wearing one.

"I've never seen a dead body like that before," she remarked. He grunted in response. "What ... what does it feel like?"

"Jesus, kid. Dead. That's what it feels like." He sat up to see a kind of sick fascination on her face. She was looking at the corpse, interested and disgusted and curious.

"Can I ... Can I touch it?"

He laughed out loud again, more out of surprise than her annoying naivety. She was wearing nice clothes, was carrying a nice bag, the wig was realistic – the kind of quality Amber Sweet would have been seen in. What the hell was she doing out here? "Be my guest," he told her, sitting back to enjoy the show. She slowly moved forward, reaching out with one hand, and laid it for half a second on the man's bare chest before leaping back again.

"Whoa," she said, and he smirked.

"Better not get used to it," he said. But he'd always remembered her and that night. It was such an odd experience that he couldn't help it. And now she was a little Z thief herself. He couldn't help but be proud. Thinking about that moment made him realize ... how much he actually cared about Shilo Wallace.

Quickly he gathered her up in his arms, wondering if he'd ever see the girl from the graveyard again. He desperately hoped so. She held on to him tightly, and he could tell she was fighting back tears again. They hugged tightly for a moment before he let her go, giving her a little salute. "See you later, kid."

"Good luck."

He didn't say or do any of the things he wanted to, but maybe it was better that way.

xxx

Nathan whistled cheerfully to himself as he cleaned up breakfast. It hardly even soured his mood when he stepped the wrong way once and almost doubled over from the pain. Once the kitchen was cleaned, Nathan set to work with vigor searching for light bulbs to change the broken one in the garage. He had to keep his mind busy when he was alone. He couldn't let anything slip in. Not-

**Nathan.**

For-

**Nathan.**

One-

**Nathan!**

Moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again almost instantly. There were visions behind his eyelids. Not pleasant ones.

**You thought I left, didn't you?** It was more of a statement than a question.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Nathan mumbled. He stepped off the chair and shut the closet in the hallway, the top shelf of which he was searching for light bulbs. Even though he was six-foot-three, the house was ancient and the closets in the hallway reached as tall as the ceiling, even too high for him.

**You don't have to talk out loud,** the voice said, as if he was an idiot. **I'm in your head, remember?**

"Yes, but talking out loud reminds me that I'm real and you're not," Nathan said, trying his best not to worry. He still didn't know the extent of the thing's power, although he could guess. He remembered the nightmare. Although the thing sometimes acted like a stray dog, trying to be let in, he also knew what it was capable of. He knew it could probably take him over if it really wanted to.

**Yes, but that would be no fun. See, Nathan, I don't want to force my way. I want you to give it to me, like that day in the study. We're partners, you know. You need to learn to accept that.**

Nathan clenched his jaw, feeling the pressure pushing, worming its way into him. He wouldn't be able to hold it off much longer.

**Just give in. It will go easier for you that way. Let me through,** the voice whispered. A sharp pain, not enough to be agony, but enough to remind Nathan who he was dealing with, throbbed in his leg. He gasped, feeling like he was drowning as the blackness began to fill him again. Dark spots showed at the edges of his vision. He slumped to the floor, struggling to hold on, but the Repo thing was snapping all his defenses like twigs.

Suddenly, Nathan's wristcomm went off. He dragged himself back to the present, following the sound of the beeping out of the blackness that had almost swallowed him whole. It must be Resa. Maybe she was in trouble. That last thought was all it took to shake his mind free and he pressed the button. A hologram of Resa's head hovered above the device.

"_Mr. Largo, may I ask what this is about?_" She sounded nervous.

_"Of course, let me explain."_ Nathan also recognized the high-pitched and usually cheerful voice of Pavi, one of the Largo children, although at the moment he sounded very serious. _"We've received information that the Repo Man is alive."  
_

Nathan nearly gasped out loud, but caught himself in time. _They know. They know!_ He panicked, trying to stand up, but he still felt dizzy. Resa expressed surprise, but even to Nathan it sounded fake. They kept talking; he should stay still. Nathan held his breath, the room spinning around him as he listened to their conversation. Pavi said that they had received a tip from a thief. Of course. Why hadn't he killed the thief? He should have-

Just then he heard a thunderous crash from the front of the house as someone broke down the door. They were here.

xxx

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Resa answered, careful to keep the smile plastered to her face. "You mean the one that died at the opera?"

"Died, yes," Pavi said, and the look on his face was inscrutable under the fleshy mask. "Something has come up, and we've been questioning the surGENs that were working that day. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure," he told her, and the manipulative reassurance made her gulp. "Can you come with me, please?"

"Of course!" Shit. Shut. Up. Resa. You sound too eager. Too fake. Calm down. You'll be fine. Nothing will happen. She wondered if the man could hear her heart thump from where he walked beside her, hand on her back. She tried to calm down with some deep breathing, but nothing seemed to be working.

Oh, God. Nathan had to know. What if he was in danger? He had to know what was going on. Pavi stayed beside her, though, and she couldn't find an opportunity to beep him.

She followed Pavi to the elevator up to the seventh floor, where she'd only stepped foot twice in her life. It was where Rotti's office had been, now Amber Sweet's office, she assumed. She sighed in relief, though still worried. She could handle Amber's questioning.

As they rode the elevator, Pavi stepped forward to press a button, and quickly she snapped on her wristcomm, coughing to hide the small beep and shaking her sleeve over it to cut off the hologram.

"Erm, Mr Largo?" she said, trying not to let her voice shake. "May I ask what this is about, sir?"

"Oh, of course," Pavi nodded, moving back behind her. She pulled at the sleeve a bit more, paranoid about the light. Blood pumped in her ears and she almost didn't hear the response. "Let me explain."

She knew it was bad when she caught his tone, serious and disappointed, and suddenly he sounded like Rotti Largo when she lost a patient.

"We've received information that the Repo Man is alive."

No surprise hit Resa, but she turned to look at him. "What?" she asked, trying to keep her voice lightly interested and shocked, but not too invested. "That's impossible."

"Exactly. That's what we said." The elevator doors opened and they stepped into the huge, dark office, which was empty. Resa's eyebrows furled.

"Sir, where's-"

"Oh, Amber won't be conducting the interview. She's far too busy for that." He kept leading her, taking her arm now, out of the office and down a dark hallway. She'd never been here before.

"So it's just you, then?"

"Luigi and myself, yes," Pavi nodded, and Resa swore she almost had a heart attack. Luigi Largo. The man she'd been careful to avoid for years. The man who'd killed the many Genterns she'd had to harvest. She almost turned tail and ran back down the hallway, but Pavi's steady hold on her, not to mention the fact that it would be far more suspicious if she ran, made her stop. Maybe she'd make it through. Maybe Pavi would keep his brother from killing her.

He was talking again, she realized. "...thief came in the other day, quite confident in her information. It shook my brother enough that he insisted on the interviews."

The thief. Of course. She couldn't help but be utterly unsurprised. Why hadn't she let Nathan take care of that stupid bandit? Everything was ruined now. No. Everything was exploding around her. Nathan ... would he be all right? Would she be all right?

Wait. Quite confident in _her_ information? The thief they'd let go was a man.

When Pavi leaned forward to open another door, Resa clicked off her communicator again. It was too risky. She only hoped Nathan heard the warning he needed to.

xxx

Nathan had heard the warning, but it was a moment too late. As the door crashed down he scrambled back, even though no one could see him from where he was crouching.

Voices were shouting, echoing off the walls and high ceilings.

"This is the GENforcer Unit. Show yourself!" a voice demanded. Nathan couldn't see the intruders from where he was, but it sounded like there were at least half-a-dozen of them, pounding and stomping and making a fierce racket. He winced as he heard something shatter.

They were going to ransack Resa's house, and then they were going to find him and kill him. A strange relief hit Nathan for a minute as he crouched like a trapped animal in the hallway. This day had always been in the back of his mind, ever since Resa rescued him and he realized that there were some very powerful people who had attempted to destroy him. It was finally over. _What would Resa do?_ he wondered as he listened to heavy boots stomp through the house._ Would she find someone again?_ He hoped so. In a strange way it was better for her that it ended like this. At least he knew the Repo thing couldn't hurt her if it was dead. As if on cue, the snarling voice spoke up.

**Get out!** it shouted. **We'll be dead if you don't move!**

One pair of heavy boots were climbing the stairs. A few more seconds and they would see him.

**MOVE,** the voice screamed, filling his limbs with adrenaline. That was the push Nathan needed. He sprang to his feet, looking around. The only rooms at this side of the house were the study, the closet, and Resa's bedroom. The closet was tall, but it there wasn't enough room for him to hide in it. He could hide under Resa's bed, but that was too obvious.

As the footsteps landed on the top of the staircase, Nathan darted into the study. He searched the room desperately looking for something big enough to hide behind. There was nothing... except-

"Up here!" A voice shouted.

Of course. He had left the chair out in the open and the GENforcer had spotted it. Nathan almost groaned. How stupid could he be?

The shout was followed by a thudding of boots marching up the stairs. Nathan dove behind the jukebox standing diagonal in the corner.

xxx

"Get me another coffee," Luigi ordered as he heard the door open behind him.

"You just had one," Pavi pointed out.

Luigi turned, watching as his brother herded in a young woman with feathers in her poofy hair. She looked as if she was in her 30s, and she clasped her hands in front of her so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

"Oh, I didn't expect you back so soon. I thought you were a Gentern," said Luigi truthfully. Then he smirked at his brother. "You can't blame me for that mistake. You look just about as pretty as them anyway." He expected Pavi to retaliate, but he remained silent under his mask. For all Luigi could tell, his brother had taken it as a compliment.

He turned his attention to the woman, a surGEN according to her black leather scrubs. He had seen her around before, but she avoided him whenever she could. Everyone did.

"So, you're Resa Donell," he said. The woman nodded. She wasn't supermodel-pretty like the last surGEN they interviewed, but she had a quiet determination about her. Luigi took her assurance as a challenge, and decided to see how quickly he could break it.

He crumpled his coffee cup in his hands and dropped it in front of her. The woman stared at it and wouldn't meet his gaze as he leaned over the desk.

"You know what we do to people who don't make their payments." Luigi opted for a low, intimidating tone. "Once the ninety days are up, the unfortunate souls are considered thieves. They have a bounty on their heads. We get a Repo Man-" the surGEN flinched at the word, but it was almost imperceptible, "-to take back what is rightfully GeneCos property from their heaving, bleeding bodies. It's quite a painful death, but that's what happens to thieves. That's what happens to people who steal property from GeneCo." He cocked his head, studying the surGEN. She still hadn't said a word. "That Repo Man is our property," he said slowly. "Did you steal him?"

Resa stammered, but before she could say anything, Pavi piped up.

"Please, brother," he said, sounding tired of the whole situation. Resa breathed a sigh of relief. "If you scare them all half to death, how are we supposed to tell which is frightened for a reason?"

Luigi breathed in through his nose, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to punch Pavi in his always grinning face. Resa took the moment's spat to find her voice. She decided to at least tell a portion of the truth, because there were people who could support it.

"I didn't steal the Repo Man," she said loudly, trying to seem disgusted by the accusation, and Luigi looked at her like one looks at a bug before squishing it. "Why would I? Those monsters killed my parents. Everyone hates them, especially me."

"And yet you work for GeneCo alongside them?" asked Luigi snidely.

"I wasn't exactly a willing applicant," Resa told him, confidence growing. "You can check my file. Your father needed a new surGEN; he had dirt on me. I mean, I love the position and I understand GeneCo now, but I'd still never help one of those … those … savages. I don't even acknowledge them."

Pavi looked over at her, nodding a bit.

"So you didn't know Nathan Wallace beforehand?" Luigi continued.

"No! I hated his type. None of the employees socialize with them. That identity-security thing. No one knew his name before the opera, and barely any know it even now. It's familiar to me because I took care of his filthy murdering corpse, didn't I?"

Resa was surprised at the venom she could easily force into her voice.

"Okay. What about the body?" Pavi cut off the line of questioning. "You took it home, did you not?"

"I harvested it at GeneCo - you can look through the organ records if you need to - and brought the rest of him home to study." Quickly she tried to think of something that could have been abnormal enough to warrant studying. Something good, but not too outrageous. She tried to sound passionate and interested. "When I performed the basic autopsy test I found he'd had autoimmune haemolytic anemia, which, as you probably know, is a completely extinct medical condition. His immune system was terminating blood cells and causing them to burst, which meant incredibly low plasma concentration. To find it in such a recently dead specimen is..."

The confused and angry look on Luigi's face told her to get on with it. She cleared her throat. She felt at least slightly firm in the lie, and at least the passion when talking about medical details had seeped through realistically.

"Anyway, yes. I took home the Repo Man's stone cold body, which, I might add, is completely legal with my license. I assure you, if he was still alive, he wasn't after I was finishing harvesting the organs. One punctured lung, but otherwise they were all good."

She hoped they were buying it. Pavi looked nearly convinced, but that was the easy part. The terrifying way Luigi's face sneered at her told her that he was still doubtful, though she could see the gears working underneath it.

"Find me those records," he spat at the Gentern who'd entered, and she nodded, going to the file cabinet in the corner.

"Anti-immune hemophylic - what was it again?" Pavi asked.

"Autoimmune haemolytic anemia," Resa murmured, feeling nervous again.

"Yes, that - sounds like what his daughter - what was her name?"

Resa almost answered, but bit her tongue hard.

"Shilo Wallace," Luigi answered, busy flipping through the papers the scantily-clad woman handed him.

"Yes, the baby Wallace - that sounds like what she had. Doesn't it?"

"She didn't have anything, you moron," Luigi muttered. "She was poisoned."

"His daughter? Poisoned?" Resa echoed, mind working a million miles a minute. Daughter? She must have been poisoned during the pregnancy. What was going on, though? Why were they talking about this, eighteen years later? She had to work hard not to ask anything she shouldn't know. She was suddenly so glad she'd decided to toss Nathan's file at the junkyard. If they'd found it, she was fucked.

"Yeah. He poisoned her." Luigi finally looked up, something calculating in his long features. "Didn't you see the opera?"

"I was working. That's why I'm here."

"Right."

Resa furrowed her brow. She knew that Nathan had accidentally killed his wife, but why were they talking about his daughter? "_He_ poisoned her?" she asked, remembering that she wasn't supposed to know any of that.

Luigi laughed. "Where have you been? Only for seventeen years. _That little bitch-_" with a thud his knife was in the desk's top. "-was supposed to take GeneCo. Before dad died and she ran off. Amber says we don't have to worry about her, though."

Resa's heart stopped. Ran off? Take GeneCo? What the fuck was going on? It was so hard to act normal with this information pummeling her mind. She wanted so badly to blurt that Shilo had died as an infant, but she was biting her tongue so hard she tasted copper. Was Shilo ... she was alive? Nathan's daughter was alive? And ... and he'd poisoned her! For seventeen years! So many epiphanies were exploding in her mind at once that she was surprised she remained sitting up. Suddenly she realized both Largos were staring at her expectantly, and she pulled herself higher in her seat.

"I'm sorry?" she asked hesitantly, hoping to anyone in the sky that that long, broad knife wouldn't end up in her next.

"I said, 'Why are you so interested?'" Luigi was beginning to get that typical rage on his face again, and Pavi jumped up in case his brother did something rash.

"Oh, I just ... I've been too busy to pay attention to anything that happened," she squeaked, eying the blade in his fist. "I'm sorry, I only harvested the bodies, I don't know anything else-"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" roared Luigi, and Resa almost fell back in her chair. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Calm down," Pavi ordered him, sounding slightly bored. "What do the records say?"

There was a long silence, and Resa slowly opened her eyes again, hoping to all hell that Asha had come through in her forgery of the papers.

"Luigi?"

"It all matches up," he muttered, sending the papers flying. The Gentern at his side scrambled to pick them up again. Resa hoped they wouldn't notice her heavy, shaky breathing and the sweat that soaked her gloves. She just hoped she'd make it out of there alive. She hoped Nathan was all right. She could tell they didn't believe her, she was doing awful, oh God, they knew, they knew...

"You can go, then, Miss Donell," Pavi said finally, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"Well, I could let my brother kill you, but Amber would be upset. This doesn't mean you're off the hook. Just go back to work."

Eagerly she nodded, disbelieving, using the chair to push herself up and leaving the small room as fast as her legs would carry her. She began to weep in relief when she hit the elevator and that horrible knife wasn't in her back, and made for the bathrooms to compose herself.


	22. Chapter 22

Boots passed by the door of the study and paused. Nathan help his breath, wishing he could slow the beat of his heart that pounded against his ribcage. The boots stepped inside and Nathan ducked his head, curling up as small as he could.

The GENforcer reached up a thickly gloved hand to the light switch, and Nathan prepared himself. With the light on, even huddled behind the jukebox, his shadow would show up against the wall. The GENforcer flicked the switch, but nothing happened. It must have been the old house's fickle electronic wiring. Nathan let out a sigh of relief before he could stop himself. The boots froze. The GENforcer must have heard him.

**Let me out.** The voice was shockingly loud to Nathan in the deathly silence. The wooden floorboards creaked as the officer moved closer. A few more seconds and he would be almost on top of him. Nathan hardly dared to breathe, but he managed to restrain the Repo Thing for a moment._ There's at least half a dozen of them. You can't take them all. _

**No, but I can take this one.** The thing struggled within him, like a wild dog at the end of its chain.

Just then, there was a shout from downstairs. "Get in here!" someone barked. "I think I found something!"

The boots hesitated for a moment, and then spun around and raced out. The sound of several more boots in the hall ran past the doorway and faded as they thudded down the stairs.

Nathan waited a few seconds and then peeked out, glancing around the empty room. He had to move. He had to get out of the house somehow. He couldn't get out from the second floor, and the closest exit was through Resa's lab. He would have to hurry.

Nathan moved stealthily across the room out along the hallway, poking his head around the corner. The voices were coming from the kitchen. They must have seen the two sets of dishes and now they knew that Resa wasn't living alone. He tip-toed down the stairs, grateful for the noise the GENforcers made, shouting and pulling apart the kitchen, which covered the groans and protests of the old staircase as he crept down it. In a few strides he was at the lab door.

"Hey!" A shout behind him.

Nathan twisted open the handle, shooting through the door and slamming it behind him, locking it. It wouldn't keep them out, but it would keep them occupied for a few seconds. He turned to leave, but something stopped him. If he left now, he wouldn't be able to return. They would be watching Resa's house like hawks. They would follow her everywhere. She wouldn't be safe. If he left now, he would never see her again.

The split second of hesitation was enough for them to start smashing open the door. It wouldn't hold much longer. Nathan grabbed a scalpel and strode to the other side of the room, when the porch door burst open and a GENforcer stepped into his path. Nathan ducked as the GENforcer aimed his rifle at his head.

**Now? **

_Now,_ Nathan agreed.

The thing filled his limbs with a surge of raw power and rage in a matter of seconds.

"Stay where you are," the GENforcer commanded, training his rifle on Nathan.

"I don't think so," he growled, and in one quick motion he ripped the weapon from the officer's hands, stabbed his throat, yanked the knife from the sputtering man and buried it in his stomach. He collapsed at Nathan's feet, dead. Another GENforcer moved in on him and Nathan stuck out with the speed of a python, burying a scalpel in the side of the officer's neck. He faltered for a moment, swaying on his feet. Nathan grasped the man's head in his hands and twisted his neck around, snapping it. He crumpled to the floor.

The door burst open just as Nathan grabbed two more scalpels. He lodged one in the eye of an approaching GENforcer and disemboweled another in one slice. A GENforcer fired his rifle at Nathan, but as his finger pressed the trigger the Repo Man had stabbed him through the heart. He fell to the floor, clutching pathetically at the pant leg of his assailant. Nathan kicked him in the head and then turned, meeting the gaze of the last GENforcer who stood by the door. The man swayed for a moment, dropped his rifle, and ran for his life.

The Repo Man stood still, watching him leave and breathing hard, not from the exercise, but from the thrill. Someone sputtered to his left. He turned, pulling a scalpel from the body at his feet and approaching the GENforcer writhing on the floor with his intestines spilling onto the tile. The Repo Man bent down to him, tilting his head, watching the light fade from his eyes. _Kill him._ Nathan pleaded. _Don't let him suffer._ To his surprise, the Repo Man listened. In a quick movement he'd sliced through the GENforcer's throat, and the man stopped sputtering, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Then it retreated, and Nathan found himself kneeling in the middle of five bodies. How was he going to explain this when Resa got home?

Resa. That's right. She could still be in trouble. Nathan switched on his wristcomm before he realized that she could still be getting interrogated and the hologram could give her away. However, he wasn't thinking straight at the moment. Just killing five people in cold blood could have that effect.

"Resa?" He tried to keep his voice a steady whisper, but it cracked. "Are you okay?"

Resa peeled her forehead from where it stuck to the side of the cold metal stall, looking down at the familiar whisper.

"Nate?" she asked, quickly peeking under the stall door to make sure the room was empty. The hologram of his face was fuzzy, and she wondered if he'd spilled something on his communicator. "I'm fine, for now. What happened? Did you hear them? Are things okay there?"

Nathan hesitated. How was he going to explain this? When Resa had seen his last victim, the shock made her sick. He looked around at the corpses sprawled across the tile, blood gathering in bright pools around them. Somehow he doubted she would take this much better.

"They sent GENforcers, Resa," he said, and though his wristcomm sputtered with static he heard her gasp. "I managed to take care of them, but one got away."

Suddenly, like a radio station catching the wrong signal, the Repo Thing flickered to life. "It's his fault." It snarled in a low tone. "He hesitated."

_"Who is this?"_ Resa's voice was a pitch above normal.

In less time than it took to blink, Nathan was himself again. "Sorry, it was me." He swallowed. That had never happened before. "The point is, you need to get out of there. The GENforcer could arrive any minute and tell everyone what happened. Get out _now_."

Resa closed her eyes, sudden panic gripping her. Was she just supposed to _leave_? Did she really think they'd allow that?

"But, what if-?"

_"Resa! Now!"_ came the growling reply, and she jumped again. Was that low, guttural snarl actually him?

"Okay," she whispered into the comm. Fear was beginning to seize her, but she knew that if she didn't leave now, she wouldn't leave at all.

She clicked him away. Her office was down the hall, and her first surgery was on the first floor. Maybe she could make like she'd forgotten something on her bike. The prospect was almost laughable, but it might hold. She needed her bag first, and a few things from her room.

Wiping her eyes one last time, she drew a breath and strode from the toilets, making herself walk normally, as if she had somewhere to be. She smiled at the Genterns she passed, tried to act like the interview hadn't shaken her, in case Luigi was watching from his sister's cameras.

She slipped into her office, free from the GENcams, and began slipping some papers into her bag, as well as a scalpel and a loaded Zydrate gun. They weren't much, but just in case she needed them. As a last minute thought she grabbed the picture frame from the desk, popping out the backing and pulling out the photo of her family as they used to be, as well as another picture hidden behind it, the only one she owned of her and Nathan. It was from the day they'd painted the hallway. Before the thieves targeted them and destroyed everything.

She didn't have time to look at it before she folded both papers and slipped them in her pocket.

In the bottom desk drawer was a standard-issue electric prod that had been unwittingly waiting for this day. Maybe it would prove useful. That was collapsed and hidden up her sleeve. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

As Resa strode down the hall again, leaving her black jacket behind and taking the clipboard to further the guise that she was off to the surgery, she desperately wanted to call Nathan again and say goodbye. Just in case. But it was too risky, so she chewed her hair and made for the lobby.

She was careful to slow her steps as she reached the double doors, looking through her bag for nothing. Her heart was pounding. When she looked up to the parking lot, though, the organ stopped dead as she caught the gaze of a black-clad GENforcer, spattered in - her stomach flipped - blood. He was speaking quietly into a wristcomm, but stopped to stare at Resa as she entered. Time slowed down as the clipboard fell from her hands and hit the floor with a clatter.

She wouldn't make it to the front door. She'd never make it. He was already striding towards her, pulling his weapon, and she needed to move. But her feet were stuck, her limbs frozen.

_Move, Resa_, something told her. She couldn't do it. Fear held her there. _Move. Move! MOVE!_

And suddenly some kind of cold shock shot through Resa's veins, and she jumped to attention. She had to go. For Nate. The GENforcer was speaking in his comm again, striding towards her. She had to do something.

Before any common sense kicked in, she pulled the prod from her sleeve and bolted towards the entrance, but the man was one step ahead of her. She pushed the prod into him, wincing at the strangled yell that escaped him. He fell to the ground in front of her and she leaped over him, slipping a bit on the slick marble and running full speed.

She'd known him, she realized as she swung the doors open, sprinting for her motorcycle, oddly calm and rational thoughts hitting her. Rory, one of the ones who'd brought her to that horrible cell two years before. He'd been nice to her, talked to her, greeted her in the hallways since and sometimes brought her lunch and coffee when Asha was off. The prods didn't kill, but she couldn't stop herself feeling bad.

With surprising agility for her clumsy feet she leaped for the bike, jamming her key into the ignition and turning it. The engine spluttered.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." she muttered, looking behind her for a split second to see people gathering, and two more GENforcers running out. With a freezing sensation in her chest, she saw Luigi Largo watching her from behind the glass, running a gloved finger slowly along his knife's edge.

Suddenly the bike roared to life and she almost cried in relief, managing to slip on her helmet as she ripped from her spot and towards the road. For the first time, she let the speed go to its full potential. Resa glanced back at GeneCo, but no vehicles followed her yet, thank Christ. With one hand she pulled up her scarf to ward against the spikes of chilly air that attacked her lips and cheeks. She tore through a red light, and bumped the communicator against her leg to start it up.

"Nathan!" she shouted into the device over the roaring wind and the blood pumping in her ears. "I got out, are you still all right?"

xxx

Nathan rushed through the house, grabbing things at random and stuffing them into a few bags he'd found. Resa's clothes, his clothes, food, the stash of cash Resa had shown him just in case, the locked box of Zydrate, books, the laptop... He paused on his way through the hall, seeing the shelf filled with Bea's things. There were too many now to take with them, since her sister had begun to fill it again.

"Oh, Resa." Nathan sighed, his heart suddenly heavy. "I'm the one who caused this. I'm so sorry." He picked up the soap kitten and pulled a few old photographs gently out of their frames, wrapping the precious items in some tissue.

Within a few minutes his bag was stuffed full. He walked through the house one last time, hovering silently at their doorways, envisioning the ghost-like memories created in them.

The kitchen. Resa's face caressed by beams of sunlight streaming through the window in the mornings, her soft bathrobe wrapped around her, fingers clutching a cup of tea, or, if it had been a tough night battling insomnia, a cup of coffee. The smell of her chocolate chip pancakes. His flash of murderous rage that had butchered an entire package of beef.

The living room, where they had stayed up all night once playing scrabble, and Resa won because she used the word "typhoid".

"No one used the word 'typhoid' in scrabble!" Nathan had protested, chuckling as a pleasant sense of familiarity overcame him.

"Oh yeah?" Resa grinned smugly. "Well, it is a real word. You're just upset cause you lost!"

The study. Nathan paused there, admiring the bright and shiny jukebox for one last time.

The lab. He ran his fingers lightly along the door frame that they had stood beneath to kiss. He could still remember how her lips had felt, soft and moist and exciting. But now bodies littered the ground, and Nathan felt disgust churn his stomach. That would be how he would remember their first kiss, now. He would remember that it happened in the room where he would later murder five human beings who were just following orders. But he had no other choice. Nathan hesitated before entering the room again, picking up a scalpel from the floor. He held it up and it flashed in the light. It wasn't perfect, but it was finely made. It could do the job, if he needed to defend himself or Resa again.

The beep of his wristcomm made Nathan jump. It was Resa again. _"Nathan!"_ she was shouting over the engine of her motorcycle. _"I got out, are you still all right?"_

"Yeah." Nathan tucked the scalpel into his pocket. "Where should we meet up? There'll be people here any minute so you can't come back here." He paused, considering whether or not to state the obvious. It couldn't hurt. "Make sure no one is following you and stick to the side roads while you're traveling. Keep your visor on so people can't recognize you. The less attention you draw, the better."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, dad," Resa said, and then hoped he hadn't heard. She turned into an alley suddenly, sending a murder of crows flapping. She raised her voice even higher over the cawing. "Sorry, I will. Meet me at the junkyard. It's about a ten minute walk, behind the house and through the dead cornfield. There's a path you can follow." She rushed to think of some kind of landmark she could set, but the speed required her whole attention, especially as she had to hold up the communicator. "There's this kind of mountain in the middle, it's the biggest pile. The first thing you see when you go towards it is this huge white statue of a woman, and the head's gone. Stay near it, I'll find you."

She waited for the crackle of a response, swearing and grabbing onto the handle again as a cat darted in front of her, and she had to swerve to avoid it.

"Nathan! You got that, right?" she shouted again, louder. She worried about the static. It clouded the only link of communication she had with the man she was trying to save, and it frightened the daylights out of her.

"Resa?" Nathan tapped on his wristcomm, and then shook it, but it was all static. He must have gotten blood on it. Resa's voice crackled and broke through for a second _"...junkyard. It's about a ten-minute walk-" _Then her voice was cut off completely. The junkyard. Nathan remembered wandering through it the night he'd left, and ended up threatening Resa with a shard of glass. He winced at the memory, and shook his head. Why Resa was still even friends with him surprised him more and more every day. She was either very foolish, or she saw something in him that made the risk worthwhile. He hoped it was the latter.

The path to the junkyard was too obvious from the front of the house. Even though he'd washed the blood off and changed clothes, he would still be an obvious target. He had to cut through Resa's backyard, hoping that he could find his way from there. He knew the general direction, and as he climbed her hedges and took off, it wasn't long before the smell hit him. The junkyard was an eyesore in Crucifixus that wilted the values of all the properties around it and spread a stench that wilted everything else as well, and yet it was somewhere Resa loved to go. Nathan sighed. Leave it to her to see the potential in everything, from common trash to a half-dead Repo Man.

He found a hole in the barbed wire fence with ease, and squeezed through. The junkyard was enormous, and dull piles of trash stood in sad, forgotten heaps. He took to a path, watchful and wary.

xxx

Ten minutes. Nathan just had to stay alive for ten minutes, that's all. Then Resa could sweep in on her gallant, roaring metal steed and save the day. Ten minutes seemed like forever.

And then what? Where would they go? Resa's house would be watched, and so would Nathan's old one, she assumed, if he even remembered where it was. There was no one she knew, no one he remembered, nothing they could do, nowhere they could go. Resa could have thrown herself from her bike in frustration. What - was - next?

She slammed on her brakes for half a second just to hear the shrill shriek of the tires, which sent her, wincing, away from disparaging thoughts. Four good things had happened that day that offset the bad ones. One; she had woken up in the arms of Nathan Wallace. Two; she had survived GeneCo. Three; Nathan had survived the GENforcers. Four; she'd lost the GeneCo vehicles that had given chase. It didn't matter that Nathan's communicator had cut out, she lied to herself with gritted teeth. It didn't matter that they had nowhere to go. It didn't matter that they were running for their lives. It didn't matter that the most powerful people in the world were out for their blood. It didn't matter that everything was going wrong, because she was on her way to find him and see him again.

Resa just hoped he was going the right way, because all that went to shit if he wasn't.

xxx

Nathan passed another pile of trash when something caught his eye. He approached it, feeling an eerie deja-vu wash over him. The item lay in a shattered heap, its polished wooden frame still clinging to a few shards of glass. It had encased dead bugs once. A variety of large, shiny blue, green and black insects with thick antennae and spindly legs that were poked and studied all day by- who?

Nathan suddenly felt as if he were balanced on a cliff, one step away from the edge. Below him there was only blackness, but there were shadows forming in it. Someone, a little girl- no, a teenager with black hair- the shadows of a memory seized Nathan with such powerful emotion that he was nearly brought to tears. He desperately needed to know, but he couldn't. It was impossible, like he was trying to see past a curtain of steel.

Suddenly, a motorcycle engine cut through the silence. Nathan looked up, the spell broken. The bugs were just bugs again. Resa was here.

xxx

The motorcycle was still running when Resa knocked down the kickstand and jumped off it. She did a quick spin, but didn't see anyone, anywhere. Her heart started thudding as she turned the corner and spotted the headless statue, but no Nathan. She didn't want to call out his name, just in case, but couldn't help it when she finally caught sight of him.

"Nathan!" she cried, running towards him and throwing herself on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

"Resa." Nathan didn't realize how worried he had been until he had her in his embrace. He squeezed back, resting his chin on top of her head and catching a faint whiff of her apple shampoo. He didn't have much now; spending money, a home, or even a full identity, but he had Resa. Somehow he could fight his way through this. Somehow they could figure things out, hide for a while, and maybe return when everything had died down. Of course coming back to the old house was impossible, but Nathan pushed the thought from his mind. That way the guilt he was feeling for destroying Resa's entire life could be dealt with later.

"Oh, thank God, Nate, when the comm cut out, I didn't know if..."

"It's okay," he soothed, even though he knew it wasn't. They could be dead within the hour if they weren't careful. Nathan glanced around for the millionth time, but the junkyard was vast and empty. He still couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that settled coldly in his stomach, however. He broke apart his embrace with Resa. "Do you have anywhere we can hide? I don't remember much, so I doubt I'll be any help."

Resa stood, sucking on a strand of hair, so overcome with relief at seeing Nathan that she forgot to speak fluent English.

"I ... I don't..." she laughed nervously, looking around her. "I guess we can't stay here. I didn't exactly come up with much of a plan on the way. I tried, but ... that house was all I had."

They stood silent for a moment. Nathan's hand traveled to the back of his neck and he sighed. "Sorry I can't be of any help. Sorry I got you into this."

"No apologies," Resa said firmly. "_We_ got _us_ into this. I don't recall your unconscious form begging me to take you home and fix you up."

Nathan smiled weakly, and Resa slipped a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said, trying to make her shaking voice sound reassured. It didn't work. "We'll manage. We've both been through worse, and we'll get through this." She struggled through distant memories for a minute, trying to pull out some of her stepmom's optimism. "Laruen always used to tell me, 'It gets darkest before the...'"

And she trailed off, staring behind Nathan.

"What? Is something there?" he asked quietly, turning to look.

"That's it!" she suddenly shouted as epiphany struck her. Nathan jumped in surprise, then looked confused.

"What's it, exactly?"

"That, that's what," Resa babbled, too uplifted by the sudden brainwave to explain it properly. "Come on, I'll ... I'll show you!"

She started picking up the two messenger bags that Nathan had dropped and slung them over herself, while he got the backpack and picked up the duffel bag. She found some rope in a nearby pile to secure the thing to the back of the bike.

"Where are we going?" he asked, wary as she grabbed his hand and they raced to their way out.

"My dad's house," she said with a beam unfitting for the moment.

"What?" Nathan couldn't help but share her smile as she pulled him to her bike. "Are you sure they couldn't find us there?"

"They would have no clue," Resa reassured him. She swung a booted leg over her bike and motioned for him to climb on behind her.

Nathan looked doubtfully at the sleek black machine, raising an eyebrow. "You don't expect me to ride on that, do you?"

Resa shrugged. "It's perfectly safe, I use it every day."

"Yeah, but…" Nathan hesitated, searching for an excuse. "But … it's so old. And you don't have an extra helmet for me."

Resa held out her helmet to him. "Here, then."

"No way!" Nathan held up his hands. "You're wearing that helmet no matter what, Resa, and that's final." He playfully pinched her cheek. "I don't want that beautiful face of yours to get scratched up."

She laughed and swatted his hand away, but he was only half-joking.

"Seriously," he said, awkwardly swinging a leg over the bike behind her. "What are the chances of dying on this thing?"

Resa smiled and shook her head. "Probably a little less than if GeneCo catches us."

"Point taken."

"You're going to need to hold on tighter than that," Resa told him, grabbing his wrists and moving his hands from her waist to her front. There was still too much room behind her for comfort, though; Nathan wasn't a small man, and she didn't want him sliding back and knocking loose the duffel bag when she revved ahead. "Closer," she chuckled. "I don't bite."

Finally she could feel him shift behind her, and Resa smiled, unable to help it. Disregarding the fact that they were running for their lives, she was mad for the man behind her, and she hadn't shown anyone how the bike could fly for years. "Hang on," she warned him. When his grip on her didn't tighten, she sighed, looking over her shoulder. "Honestly, I'm going to go fast. If you don't believe me, I'll round back to pick you up out of the dirt. Hang. On."

Nathan was glad he was behind Resa so she couldn't see him flushing beet red. He scooted closer on the bike, awkwardly tightening his grip around her and trying to ignore how nice she smelled and how very close they were. He thought she said something, and then suddenly the machine roared to life beneath them. Nathan felt his stomach flip and he considered speaking up again, but he swallowed his words as the bike shot forward, almost knocking him off. He let out a cry of alarm and squeezed even tighter to Resa while they raced through the junkyard. To his embarrassment, he felt her laughing.

"You could have killed me back there!" he shouted over the wind indignantly.

"I _told_ you to hang on!" she yelled back, but it was muffled through her helmet.

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was enjoying this, but he was too frightened of dying to do anything but let out one more half-hearted complaint. The dirt they flew over soon turned into pavement as Resa took to the backstreets.

After a few minutes passed and Nathan found himself still alive, he almost began to enjoy the ride. He felt the thrill of tearing through the streets, accelerating past buildings and streetlights at the speed of light with only Resa to cling to and the thunder of the bike beneath him. Nathan tried to keep vigilant as they rode, but he didn't notice any more than a few strange looks cast their way when they were forced to move through a busier part of town. GeneCo must not have announced their escape yet.

He glanced up at a billboard as they passed, which at the moment was promoting the use of GeneCo Zydrate. Perhaps the two of them just weren't that important. Or perhaps the Largos were still fighting about what to do and hadn't given orders yet. Nathan smiled grimly. That was probably it.


	23. Chapter 23

One advantage of being a street urchin is that rich people didn't notice you. You could scuttle through the slick city streets like a cockroach, and just as long as you got in nobody's way, they wouldn't take a second glance at you. In the modern age, more people were too obsessed with themselves to bother seeing a homeless black girl slip by them, quickly snatch a fistful of food, and keep walking.

Zaire had never noticed how deeply self-centered people were before, because she had been just like them. It was only natural, growing up surrounded by commercials, magazines and even billboards that shouted at passersby, claiming that their lives were useless unless they had the newest and greatest organ transplant, skin graft, or retinas. Zaire had grown up accepting it all without question. Her cousins had surgeries. Her classmates had surgeries. Even her father would get a little 'fix-up' now and then, just to 'keep his face camera-ready.' Surgeries were now the equivalent of a day at the spa, only a little more expensive. Zaire's mother never had the stomach for it, and she was the one who kept Zaire from giving in to the pressure completely. If not for the disdain and worry of her mother, Zaire probably would have gone under the knife a long time ago, just to see what all the fuss was about. She was usually careful, but the tendency to be reckless was strong in her family, and the concept of completely altering one's appearance was fascinating, albeit horrifying, to Zaire.

When she arrived at the house, she was grateful to see that the driveway was empty. They wouldn't be home this afternoon. They never were.

She glanced around quickly and then ducked under a fence panel, stepping into the yard. It always gave her great satisfaction to walk on the grass when she came here, because she knew she wasn't allowed to. It was a strange thing to get more of a thrill out of that small rebellion than the breaking-and-entering she had done more times than she could count.

Zaire slipped around to the back of the house, pulling an old key from her pocket and climbing the stained wooden porch. It was a nice house, with beautiful white roses in the flowerbed and a path made of smooth, marble-like stone running from the door to the garden shed. Zaire hadn't noticed it before; they must have installed it recently. She felt a bitter twist in her stomach as she entered the house, stepping onto the yellow tile of the storage room. She always tried to avoid staying in this area of the house for too long, where all the memories were hidden away so the inhabitants didn't have to look at them. A boy's skateboard was stuffed in-between two boxes, its wheels still an unworn and shiny red. It had been a Christmas gift. Sheets and a blanket printed with blue and white rocket ships soaring through space were folded and stuffed in a box, forgotten. Zaire felt tears burn her eyes as she spat a curse at the people who could be so heartless.

She approached the boxes and started rifling through them, trying to ignore old toys and games that were just too painful to look at. She pulled out an old, matted stuffed penguin just as the toilet flushed in an adjoining room. She didn't think much of it; she was too busy untangling the stuffed animal from the cord of a game system and tugging it out of the box. Its black beady eyes were lop-sided and the stuffing was coming loose from a seam, but she felt as thrilled at discovering it as if she had found a goldmine.

At that moment the sound of the toilet registered to her. Someone was in the house. She was not alone. She was turning, clutching the penguin, tripping over old roller-skates, scrambling to her feet-

"Zaire?"

The voice was quiet, whispered, almost unbelieving. Zaire froze. She turned, slowly meeting the eyes of the woman at the door. She had a sweater wrapped tightly around her thin body, and her wide eyes were sunken into her dark, gaunt face with an expression of open disbelief. Her lips were working, but no sound came out.

Zaire was trapped in her gaze as time slowed to a halt around them and an entire conversation passed between their eyes. Then she was out the door and running through the yard, choking on sobs as tears flowed freely down her face. She couldn't do this anymore. She had to talk to someone. But who? Before even making it onto the sidewalk Zaire knew the answer. She just hoped Heron wasn't too busy.

xxx

Shilo didn't know what to do with herself once Graverobber's long coat swished behind him, and the door shut with a resounding _thud_. She already missed him, but she couldn't stand another helpless, devastated breakdown. Her hair fluttered around her face like wings as she looked around, trying to find something to distract her. Anything. She felt an attack rising. Her eyes caught the empty birdcage in the corner. The something was crowding her mind, trying to escape, blocking her senses, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think…

Suddenly the bird cage was on the ground. The crash brought her back, breathing heavily, staring at the mess. Her foot was back on the floor again, a bit of pain coursing through it.

Breathe. In and out. You can breathe, she told herself.

At once Shilo was filled with a morbid pride. She'd defeated the attack almost before it started. She almost forgot about Graverobber for a moment as the triumph seeped through her muscles.

She needed to do something. Quickly she dropped to a squat and reached to right the dented cage, but her hands stopped and hovered a few centimeters above it.

Kicking it down had felt good. Really good. Destroying one of her father's lies had been like destroying the wall. The wall he kept around him, the "Shilo, it's your bedtime," "Take your medicine, Shi," "Your mother'd be so proud" wall. The wall that kept him from being her father, and made him her doctor. She hated his doctor side, she realized. And she hadn't seen much of his father one since she'd stopped being cute.

"_Dad? What happened to Tolly?"  
_

"_Tolly? Who's that?"  
_

"_Tolly, daddy, he's gone. His cage is empty."  
_

"_Shilo, that cage has always been empty."  
_

"_It has?"  
_

"_Yes, precious. It's for decoration, remember? You must have been dreaming."_

Her foot stomped the cage down again, anger pulsing through her blood. _You must have been dreaming. You must have been dreaming. You must have been dreaming._

"I wasn't dreaming, was I, dad?" she shouted at the birdcage. "I was never dreaming! You were dreaming! You were so busy dreaming about being a husband you forgot to be a father!"

With a torrent of swears she wasn't even aware she knew, she gave the cage one final kick and stared at it, hands curled into fists and chest heaving.

Destruction.

It was empowering.

"_Why can't I go out and play?"  
_

"_Maybe when you're older, Shi. The air will aggravate your condition, you know that."  
_

"_But Anas is out there! I want to go play with him!"  
_

"_Anas?"  
_

"…_Daddy…"  
_

"_How do you know him? You were out there, weren't you?"  
_

"_I wasn't, dad…"  
_

"Shilo!_ I can't believe you'd blatantly disobey me like this! What if you'd been hurt? What if you'd been killed?"  
_

"_I just wanted to play outside! Nothing would have happened!"  
_

"_You could have been … what your mother would … I can't believe this! Go to your room!"_

She slammed the window closed. It shattered, sending old, stained glass falling in angry hordes around her.

"It's not dangerous," she whispered to the constellations through jagged edges. She breathed in the fresher air, listened to the city noises, looked at the faint sunset through the clouds. "You're not dangerous." The adrenaline kept the pain from her fingers when she gripped it tightly, even though she saw the blood drip slowly from her palms. "This house is dangerous."

"_Take your medicine, Shilo."  
_

"_Shi, did you take your medicine?"  
_

"_Your medicine's on the night table."  
_

"_Open up, Shi. There's a girl."  
_

"_Take your medicine."_

"Take your medicine."

Take your medicine.

Take.

Your.

Medicine.

Shilo screamed, throwing the box of bottles against the wall, hearing the satisfying crash and watching the colorless liquid splash and white pills scatter onto the carpet. She fell to her knees, a twisted, happy smile spreading across her face.

"It's not my medicine." She laughed maniacally, holding her hands up, feeling the warm blood trickle down her bony wrists, watching it drop onto her night gown and blot. It spreading like ink, eating the fabric and sending out its adventurous scarlet tendrils. "It's not my medicine. I don't have to listen to you. You're the sick one. _You're the sick one!_"

xxx

Resa felt a swirl of nostalgia and memory when she looked down at the distant house, pulling at the brake and feeling Nathan loosen his hold on her waist.

"We're here," she murmured, the roar of the engine leaving buzzing in her ears. "I'm going to park in the trees here so no one can see the bike. We're in the middle of nowhere, but just in case."

Breathing in the familiar scent of fresh air, far from the factories and machines and cars, she carefully peeled her numb, cold legs from the metal. It seemed like they'd been riding for hours, because she'd gotten lost. It _had_ been almost twenty years.

"God, I'm old," she'd muttered under her breath when the streets had finally started looking familiar.

She pulled off the helmet, looking back at a very windswept Nathan to make sure he was okay. He looked uncomfortable and tired, but otherwise fine. She'd stopped offering him Zydrate when he began to refuse adamantly every time, but he'd thought to bring the full lockbox in case they needed money. She wouldn't have even considered bringing anything, and admired his quick judgment.

"Let's go," she murmured, shifting one of the heavy bags she'd hung on herself. Nathan had the huge one over his shoulder, and wouldn't allow her to take it or the backpack.

"At least we have a bit of a plan now," he said optimistically as they trekked down the steep hill. She nodded.

"Or at least somewhere relatively safe to think of one," she added, trying to keep exhaustion out of her voice. She wondered what she'd feel when they reached the tiny house. Even the trees were beginning to give her a queasy feeling of familiarity.

They were too emotionally and physically tired to talk anymore as they approached the house, but Resa was kind of glad for that. Her nostalgia was all for herself, as was the sick sadness in her gut. The last night she'd been here had been the second worst of her life.

It was small, squarish, almost a cabin. A lot smaller than she remembered. The siding had peeled away, revealing the red brick underneath. It was odd though; not a single window was broken. The door was open and had fallen off of one hinge, though intact, and the only damage seemed natural. It was weird seeing something that hadn't been destroyed by humanity for no reason. The outside had been mangled by weather and the toxic environment beyond recognition, and she felt almost nothing as they approached. It didn't even seem like it had ever been her house.

"Wait," Nathan told her cautiously before she entered, and she backed up. "There might be someone inside. Do you have something, a weapon or ...? I only grabbed a scalpel."

"I have this," she said quietly, digging through one bag and pulling out the GeneCo electric prod. He nodded.

"That'll do. Wait here."

She handed him the prod and then waited, listening for any noises from inside. Nothing seemed to be happening for the longest time. Her eyes darted across the forest, careful to avoid the rotting, overgrown toys that littered the yard. Bea's toys. She worked hard to keep the pictures from springing to her mind. She couldn't afford any more emotional trauma tonight.

"All clear," Nathan's voice echoed to her, but something in it sounded strange. "We should move everything to the living room."

Resa nodded, and smiled weakly at him as he appeared again to pick up the bags. She was attacked by a torrent of memories and feelings when they entered. There was a thick layer of dust on the floor and most of the furniture had been moved out, but for the most part it was exactly how she remembered. Ghosts traveled the halls in front of her. She tried to keep the thickness behind her eyes and the smile at the familiarity hidden from Nathan. It was only a hideout. Not a trip to her childhood.

"I'll fix the door tonight, before it gets cold," he was saying as he slowed so she could walk beside him. She nodded distractedly, peering into each room and swallowing the lumps that rose in her throat. When they passed the kitchen Nathan put a hand on her back and kept her moving, and she was unable to see inside.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just keep going."

Resa's curiosity was fueled, but Nathan was careful to keep her moving. "There's no one here, don't worry," he reassured her as they reached the sitting room. "I was thorough."

She believed him. But why wasn't she allowed to see the kitchen?

Resa couldn't speak. She sat down in the middle of the room on a rolled sleeping bag, trying to quell her emotions. Nathan was pulling out food, but she refused. She was ravenous, but she couldn't eat if she tried. This was her home. She never thought she'd feel like this again, but she kept expecting Lauren to walk in with a new game for her and Bea, or dad to pass out sleeping on the armchair, paper falling out of his hand. It was a beautiful, missed feeling, but it was made all the worse knowing that neither expectation would prove true.

A thick layer of dust covered everything in the house. A few sparse pieces of furniture were layered with thick cobwebs, but even the spiders had left a long time ago. Nathan couldn't help but feel grateful that the house needed work as he crept through it, peering into corners and checking in closets. Cleaning and fixing the house could be a project to occupy both of them, just like at Resa's old house. And then when they were finally finished, well... Nathan squinted, peering through a dark bedroom scattered with stuffed animals and faded pink walls.

Well what? Did he just expect everyone to forget about them? How were they going to make a living? The land in the small valley was nice, but nothing could grow in the toxic air. And their faces would be plastered on billboards for months. How could they ever find work again?

Nathan clutched the cold metal rod in his hand as he approached the kitchen. A faint memory made him shiver. He had felt the sting of one of these vicious things before.

At first, the kitchen was bathed in darkness. He fumbled with his free hand for a light switch at the same time as the smell hit him. It was faint, old, and musty, but his Repo side stirred excitedly, picking up the nauseating undertone instantly. Nathan realized what it was just as he flicked the switch, illuminating the room with electric-gas lanterns. He immediately spun around, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. The smell was overpowering now, hitting him in waves as the image of what he saw played over and over again in his mind, like a sick, morbid movie that both disgusted and excited him. He stumbled out of the kitchen and sunk to the floor, breathing deeply. After a few seconds the smell vanished, as if he had only imagined the entire thing. A few more seconds and he was able to take another look.

He wasn't imagining it.

"Nathan?" came Resa's hesitant voice from outside.

Nathan mumbled a curse. He had almost forgotten about her. He jumped up, grabbing the electric prod. Resa couldn't see the kitchen. It would be hard to keep her from the gruesome discovery, but not impossible. Once she was out of the house he could take care of it somehow. The Repo thing hissed, still awake. ...Or at least he could try to take care of it.

"All clear," Nathan called out, hoping he sounded normal. "We should move everything to the living room."

He helped her with the bags and then walked through the house with her. Nathan could tell the surGEN was trying not to appear sentimental, but he didn't miss the wistful smile that made her mouth curl at the edges. He managed to guide her away from the kitchen, but Resa was curious. He didn't have much time.

"Please have some." Nathan offered half an artificially-modified bread loaf to her, but she waved it away. "Are you sure? You must be starving by now," he persisted, concerned. "You have to eat something."

Resa mumbled a "no, thank you" and brought her knees up to her chest from where she was perched on her bag. Nathan sat cross-legged on the floor. There were a few pieces of furniture left, but neither of them were too eager to sit on a nest of cobwebs.

Resa looked so vulnerable from where she was curled that Nathan had to resist an urge to go to her and fold her in his arms, but he could tell the embrace wouldn't be welcome for once. She was gazing softly into space, her eyebrows knotting together and drawing a small line between them.

"Maybe you should go for a walk," Nathan said through a mouthful of bread. He hated to break her concentration, but he decided it couldn't wait any longer. How he was going to manage the problem in the kitchen, he didn't know, but things could be sorted out once she was out of the house.

Resa turned to him. "Why?'

"You look like you have a lot to sort out." Nathan said honestly. "Fresh air would help."

Resa shook her head. "I can't, Nate," she said, looking for an excuse. She didn't want to be alone. "They're looking out there. I mean, my personal records are pretty buried, and I don't see how they could connect this house to me, but we're not _that_ far from Crucifixus. There's an off chance someone could recognize me. I mean," she lifted her huge mess of hair uselessly and let it drop, suddenly wanting to talk. A lot. It was a welcome distraction. "I could chop all of this off and wear contacts, I might look normal. Well, not like me, anyway."

Nathan chuckled, seeming distracted. "I like your hair."

"I've grown rather attached to it myself," Resa nodded solemnly. "But it's kind of a dead giveaway. Neighbors I haven't seen since I was fifteen would probably still recognize me for it. Not that they'd connect it to Resa Donell, anyway."

"They'd remember your hair but not your name?"

"Well, they might. But it wouldn't be Resa Donell they'd remember." She gave a slight apologetic smile. "Sorry, I'm babbling. I'll stop."

"No, you're talking. There's a difference."

She shrugged. "Not for me." But she kept going after the expectant stare he shot her. "Well, I changed my name after dad and Lauren - well. You know. That's why my mom and I have different surnames. I didn't want hers, didn't want to be associated with her. Lucie Resa Hart, that's what I used to be." Resa laughed. The name sounded strange and foreign on her tongue after so long. "Anyway, that's why they won't consider this house. It was a long time ago, and my records with GeneCo are completely under Resa Donell. Not Lucie Hart."

"I can't imagine you as a Lucie. You'll always be Resa Donell to me," Nathan said emphatically. That earned a smile from Resa, to which he couldn't help but smile back. Perhaps the kitchen could wait. It felt good to talk.

"I do like your hair, though," Nathan insisted. "Maybe you could just tie it back or something."

Resa shook her head. "I don't think that'll work."

Nathan sighed, finishing his bread. His stomach still growled hungrily, but he could wait. He didn't know how long the food needed to last them. "Well, if you're making such a big sacrifice, what should I do to change my appearance?"

Resa thought for a minute, and then grinned wickedly. "You could shave _your_ head."

Nathan laughed. "Yeah, right. As if a six-foot-three bald man wouldn't attract attention. Should I wear sunglasses and a suit and talk into my wristwatch every few minutes too?"

Resa laughed. "Good point," she said. "Well, we'll just stay here until it's necessary."

Nathan nodded, chewing another chunk of bread thoughtfully. Resa looked at him, biting her lip. Suddenly something overwhelmed her, some kind of sick relief. She burst out laughing, and couldn't stop. Nathan only looked at her, chuckling a bit like it was infectious.

"What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"

"I - I don't know," she wheezed, almost in hysterics. "I can't believe we made it out of that. And we're perfectly okay. It's a god damn miracle." She laughed harder, falling off of the bag onto the floor. "Us, two of the least deserving people on earth. We're both completely okay."

The laughs shook her shoulders, eyes beginning to water. She looked up at Nathan, bringing the back of her hand to her face, and suddenly found herself sobbing. "I..." she tried to start talking again, tried to stop making a total idiot of herself, but everything was hitting her at once. "That might have been ... the most stressful night of my life so far," she hiccupped with another apologetic laugh. She wondered if this was what a mental breakdown felt like.

Nathan sat there awkwardly, watching Resa's hysterical laughter turn into sobs and back again. They were both screwed if she suddenly went crazy. He had an instinct to go and comfort her, but he held back.

"Resa?" he asked, hesitantly. "Are you okay? Can I get you anything? A glass of water or ... something?"

"Sorry," Resa gasped between heaves, her face now red and streaked with tears from the laughter.

"You must be tired," Nathan smiled. "I am, too."

Resa's breathing slowed and she rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. "You must think I'm insane."

Nathan laughed. "That would be a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, no?" He trailed a finger through the dust on the floor, drawing nothing in particular. "Resa?"

"Hmm?"

"What happens next?"

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, her gaze following his hand across the old hardwood.

He looked up at her. "You know what I mean. If we manage to get out of this - and that's a very big "if"- what happens next? Neither of us will be able to work as surGENs again. Even if I get all my memories back, it's not going to help anything. We'll have to get plastic surgery from the black market, and start new careers somewhere outside the city."

Resa started to protest. "But you're not healed-"

He held up a dust-coated finger. "I'm feeling better every day, and I have a high pain threshold." It was true; the constant agony that plagued him when he first refused Zydrate had faded to a dull pain. Nathan doubted the twisted and torn muscle in his leg would ever heal completely, but at least the pain was now bearable. "Anyway, I just wanted to prepare you." He glanced at Resa carefully. She slowly moved back up into a sitting position, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, bracing for bad news. "I need to work as soon as I can so we can start getting money again. And I don't know about houses." He hesitated, and then reached out, taking her soft hands in his. "If this works out, whatever the hell it is-" Nathan laughed nervously, "Then maybe we can move in together, or something. But until then..." He grasped for words, unable to look into Resa's eyes and see the hurt and confusion he knew would be there. "Until then ... if we do manage to move away from Crucifixus, we should live apart for a while. It would make us less obvious to authorities and that's the way..." He stopped himself before he said _that's the way it was with Marni before we married. _"That's just what we should do. I would insert some cheesy quote here, like 'absence makes the heart grow fonder,' but you deserve better than that." He was rambling now, and he knew it. "I just think you do deserve better than that. You deserve better than me. And I don't want to hold you back."

Resa had been deathly silent for his entire speech, and Nathan finally found the courage to look into her eyes.

"Nathan..." Resa started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I don't want to talk about this. Can't we just take whatever comes in stride? It'll all work out ... we're safe here, for now. We have some time."

"We shouldn't be unprepared."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't be, I'm just saying ... can't we at least get a good night's sleep?"

Nathan took off the thick-rimmed glasses she'd bought him (he'd happened to have a similar prescription to hers, so they'd been easy for her to get) and rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to think about it either, but it's kind of a pressing issue. There are some things you can't procrastinate, Resa."

"Why?" she asked harshly. "Why are you saying this stuff? I assure you, I deserve way less than you. You're like ... like cheese."

Nathan snorted in surprise, raising an eyebrow at her. "Like cheese?"

"Yeah, like when you get nachos and you're expecting synthetic cheese, but you get real cheese instead, and you know it could be dangerous because of the toxins in milk, but it's so good that you can't stop eating it. It's like that."

Nathan stared at her. "You are, without a doubt," he said slowly, "the strangest person I've ever met."

"Is that a good thing?"

"I think so."

She looked at the ground a bit longer, deciding to never use her cheese metaphors in real conversation again. "Except you're non-toxic cheese," she added before her brain kicked in. Shut up. Shut up, Resa.

"Okay," she said, not looking up to see his reaction. "I can see why you don't want to live with me once you're better. Sorry."

"Not exactly the romantic, are you?" Nathan asked, beginning to smile.

"It's been a while," Resa's lips tugged at the corners, cheeks gathering a flush. It had been slightly awkward between the two of them and she knew it, despite her attempts at odd conversation. Neither of them were social people, and she assumed Nate had had about as much human interaction over the years as she had.

She glanced up at him, but he was focused on finding something in one of the bags. Resa nodded and pulled one towards her to explore what Nate had grabbed. She knew it would be a bit weird for a while, but he was still her best friend. She was sure they'd pull through with the relationship stuff when the time came.


	24. Chapter 24

Graverobber sucked in a breath, restraining himself from knocking away the hand that was twisting his leg. "Easy, Heron," he gasped. The old woman snorted, giving his ankle another painful squeeze.

"Grow a pair, Graves," she told him harshly. He laughed, which turned into another gritting of teeth. "If you hadn't waited so bloody long to see me, I wouldn't have to straighten it out so much. But you're a fuckin' idiot, aren't you?"

Graverobber looked around the room, trying to occupy his mind and keep it away from Shilo. What was she doing? Was she okay? Why wouldn't she leave his thoughts damn well alone? Why did he have to torture himself with worry about her when there was nothing he could do?

He shouted out at the huge _crack_ that suddenly echoed through the musty room, leaving spikes of pain that drove themselves up his leg. "What the actual fuck, Heron?" he growled loudly, gripping his knee. It wasn't the area in question, but it was as far as he could reach without hitting the claws that gripped his leg.

"Pass me the splint from the table, Zaire," Heron said over her shoulder, and the dark-skinned girl in the corner jumped up. Graverobber had forgotten she was there. It was the girl from the alley, the one with the fake leg. Ever since he'd come in and nodded with a distractedly unintentional sneer at her 'hello', she'd been sitting on the armchair without a word. Heron's pain-filled attentions had prevented him from any further discussion.

Heron took the bandages and wood from the girl with a thankful nod, and began to whip them around Graverobber's leg unceremoniously. He winced at the tight grip, and she smacked his knee. "Stop tensing up."

"Stop massacring my leg and I'll consider it," he muttered through gritted teeth. She snorted.

"Well, at least your other wounds don't look too bad. I might need to break one of the ribs again, though."

"Fuck if you will."

"Hey, this brings me no pleasure," she looked up at him, a delighted smile pulling at her cheeks. The first time he'd been to see her with a broken nose, he'd been astonished that such a pleasant-faced woman could have such a mouth on her. He was used to her tough, no-shit attitude now, but it still took him off-guard occasionally.

"So how's the girlfriend?" Heron asked casually as he gingerly pulled off his shirt. He caught sight of Zaire in the corner, turning her face down with a rosy tint on her cheeks. He smirked.

"Not too bad," he started to say, and then registered the question. "And she's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, sorry. Fuckbuddy."

He choked out a laugh. "Not that either."

"She's still just jailbait."

"Closer," he laughed. "She's eighteen, though."

"Well, that's legal, anyway." He knew she was just talking to distract him from what the horrible pain she was about to inflict on him, but he appreciated the conversation anyway. "Have you gotten her in bed yet?"

Graverobber shook his head. "It's not like that. Honestly."

"Of course it's not. Some beautiful young girl – and then you." She said the word as if with terrible connotations, and snorted. "Yeah, it's not like that at all."

Graverobber glared as the old woman placed her hands just under his chest.

"This'll hurt," she warned him half a second before she drove a thousand knives through his body. He emitted a stream of shouts and incomprehensible curse words, doubling over, but she was already wrapping him up.

"Heron…" he muttered. "I've never hit a woman before, but Christ, I've never wanted to hit one so much."

"Yeah, yeah, try it, pretty boy," she told him. The pain kept him from being self-conscious about his for-once clean hair and face. "I've hit plenty of pedophiles before."

"Not…" he started, then decided to use the energy to sit up instead of arguing with her. He knew she didn't mean it. He continued to mutter, trying to keep from throwing up all over her floor from the pain.

"Are you just about done, then?" Zaire piped up. She had been sitting in the corner, chewing her fingernails and running thoughts through her head while trying to ignore what was going on before her. It made her queasy when Heron reset Graverobber's leg, and the sickening crack that sounded when she fixed his ribcage made her dizzy. She could only imagine the pain he was feeling.

"Why, are you in a hurry?" Heron finished wrapping up her patient, who was breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Zaire couldn't help but be surprised that he had stayed conscious through the whole ordeal, but he looked tough. He looked as if he had been through worse. He would probably laugh if he knew Zaire's problems, which had seemed so insurmountable to her only a minute ago.

"No ... I just wanted to talk," Zaire trailed off, watching the older woman rummage in her medical bag. She was regretting saying anything at this point, as Graverobber glanced at her with a look of boredom and possibly scorn.

"It's not that important. I mean, I can come back," she said quickly, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

"Well, you're here now," Heron said, producing a bottle of pills from her bag and handing some to Graverobber. He took them gratefully, swallowing them at once without any water.

"How can I make a lot of money quickly?" Zaire burst out.

Both of them turned to look at her.

"Well there is one way," Graverobber smirked. "But your leg might put off most of your customers. Unless they like that sort of thing."

Zaire blushed. "Not like _that._ I just need enough to leave the city with my brother until I can find a job."

"You're not in any trouble, are you?" Heron sounded concerned.

"No, really," Zaire rushed to reassure her. "It's just my brother. They hit him at school." She didn't even know why she was admitting this with Graverobber there. "He's only eight years old. And our parents pretend he never existed…" she stopped, trying to fight back the sudden rush of tears and a wave of embarrassment. She was too old to cry. She was fifteen, for God's sake, and a street urchin. The toughest of the tough. Apparently.

"You never told me you have parents!" The voice at the door made Zaire jump, and the three of them turned to stare at the intruder. "Sorry," Trish said, shrugging. "It sounds like I interrupted something really important." She glanced at Zaire, a trace of hurt in her gaze.

"I'm sorry. I would have told you, honest," Zaire said, suddenly wishing she could sink into the floor. "It just never came up."

"Even between friends?" Trish waved her hand dismissively. "You know what? Never mind." She turned to Heron. "I came by to grab some more meds for Rat. He says he's still in a lot of pain."

Heron snorted. "He's a pussy."

Trish shrugged again. "That may be, but he's a pussy I have to listen to, since _someone_-" She shot another look at Zaire- "Left me alone to take care of him all day."

Heron sighed, shoving a hand in her pocket and producing a white pill and a few pieces of lint. "Here. It's Advil, but tell him it's Z-killers or something."

"Thanks." Trish grabbed the pill. "Rat says he doesn't have too much cash to pay you with right now, but he'll figure something out." She turned back to Zaire as Heron rolled her eyes. "Where _were_ you today? I miss the old days when you actually used to tell me things."

Zaire fumbled for an excuse when suddenly Graverobber spoke up. "What happened to Rat?"

She stared at him. "You didn't hear? I thought everyone knew." Zaire dropped her voice to a whisper. "He got torn up by the Repo Man."

"Repo Man?" Graverobber croaked. "And he's alive? GeneCo must be getting more lax. What was old Repo after?"

Trish just stared at him, something in her eyes telling him he didn't want to know. Then Heron was clattering with something or other and Zaire was looking around sheepishly. "What?" he asked. He hated women. "What's wrong?"

"Graves..." Trish said hesitantly. "It wasn't GeneCo."

"Well, Rat must've pissed the guy off then, he probably deserved it."

"No, G, it's bright-eyes. He's back. And he's still rogue."

"Back?" Graverobber echoed. Something crashed in the back of his mind. Bright-eyes. The one that made the other masked terrors look like shit. But wasn't he...?

Shilo. He had to get to Shilo.

Suddenly his breaks didn't hurt anymore, the meds kicking in. He jumped off the table, expecting a rush of pain that never came. "Are - are you sure?"

"Jesus, where have you been? The Largo kids have been ripping up half the city looking for him! If he's killing guys like Rat for fun, none of us stand a chance." Trish suddenly looked frightened again, but Heron laughed.

"If the Largos want to find him, they'll find him," she said stubbornly. "Let's just hope we're still up in numbers when they do. Is everyone else still accounted for so far?" she shot at Trish. The girl nodded, spiky blue hair waving a bit.

A shot of panic went through Graverobber. Did he tell Shilo before her father was caught again, and probably killed? Did he leave it? Would she be happy that the man was alive, or would it fuck her up even more? She did seem to miss him.

And if he _was_ back, and _had_ gone rogue, how much of a threat did he pose to his daughter? Graverobber knew Nathan Wallace had poisoned her and basically crippled her all her life and she'd developed some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, but that was it. He didn't know much more about the relationship. He didn't know what kind of man he was. Maybe he'd kill her.

Stop it, he told himself. Then he suddenly realized the women in the room were staring at him.

"Graverobber?" Heron asked hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

He didn't know. Was he? Was Shilo? Ice was shooting through his veins. What was the right thing to do?

Fuck right. When had he ever done something right?

"I have to go," he said quickly, tugging his shirt on again and shifting into the one boot carefully. His newly broken bones were flaring a bit again, and he had to move carefully. But that was hard when life with his kitten was being threatened.

"Oh, right!" Heron said sarcastically, taking his coat from his hands. "Go running down the streets and splinter and infect your injuries and give me a bigger mess to clean up. You're staying right here."

"Heron!" he practically roared at her, right in her face. "I - have - to - go!"

The woman's pleasant face remained unchanging and determined, but she handed him the coat in defeat. "You be fucking careful, Graverobber," she told him sternly.

"When have I ever been careful?" he muttered, mind racing at a million miles an hour as he ripped the coat from her and disappeared, trying to ignore the scalding, tearing pain that engulfed his body even through the pills.

He had to tell Shi.

xxx

Shilo had never felt so calm in her life. She wasn't happy, wasn't even content, but she felt … at peace. She'd destroyed mostly everything in the old house, and finally felt it was good enough, for now. She sat in the middle of the chaos with her legs curled underneath her, soft music playing in the background. It was something old, but she was barely listening.

One of her wooden showcases lay in front of her, open and asking for more bugs. Scattered beside her were closed petri dishes, each one housing a different specimen. Sometimes when she was upset Graverobber went with her to catch bugs, even though he didn't like them. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but she could tell by the way he let her do all the handling. She didn't mind; she liked holding the little things and feeling them tickle her palms, leaving their powdery scales like fairy dust on her fingers.

Now they'd all been killed humanely, though, and she just had to place them onto her board. One by one, with meticulous care and textbook placing, she spread their wings and slid the pins neatly through the furry or shiny bodies. She read the passage for each one from the book that lay open on her other side. Since Graves wasn't there to make fun of her she read them aloud, like a funeral eulogy.

Shilo had hated killing the bugs at first, but dad had found her a spray that killed them instantly and, he assured her, painlessly. She'd began to collect the creatures when she was really little and he'd told her she couldn't have a puppy because the fur would aggravate her condition. They'd been like friends before, and she kept them and talked to them for days. Now it was a therapeutic exercise, and she killed them right away instead of keeping them locked up. She'd decided that keeping them, forced to watch her dismantle their friends and await their turn was cruel and unusual. When the moths looked at her and waved those fuzzy feelers, she knew that they were just like her. She was a trapped bug. And she refused to be like her father.

Now she had Graverobber, anyway. She didn't like the people he hung out with; the girls were too spaced out or tough, and the guys were only interested in three things: stealing, Zydrate, and ... well, other things. She still felt dirty and horrible thinking about those ones. But she'd find people, proper people, to like her. When she was ready. Graves was certainly enough, but he left so often. She was lucky to see him three days of the week.

Another bug. Another pin.

Maybe she'd go out today. Without Graverobber. The last time had been a disaster, but she'd been a wreck herself. She'd only considered going out because it'd been three days since her last meal, but she wanted out of the house. She hadn't been in her right state of mind.

Now she was better.

xxx

The doorknob scraped loudly, and Shilo winced as the door swung open in front of her. Peering into her father's untouched office was like staring into the abyss. She'd forgotten the keys for the house on his desk, though, and needed them to leave.

One step. Not so bad. She clutched her bag, reeling a little as the office dipped before her like it was jell-o. She breathed deeply, trying not to concentrate on the smell. Keys were in hand and she sighed inwardly in relief. She could go, and he wasn't here to stop her.

She stopped before the doorway and looked back, eyes catching on a pile of grey fabric at the wheels of his chair. Without a thought she grabbed the cardigan and pulled the sleeves over her arms, and slammed the door behind her. Shilo took a moment to breathe in the scent of her father that clung to the neck of the oversized sweater. She felt no sadness, for once. The familiar smell made her head spin a moment, but it only brought fondness now. "I really did love you, dad," she murmured to thin air, then slowly descended the stairs. She didn't even see the ghost of her godmother that usually haunted her. She was moving on, she supposed. She wished Graverobber was here to see it.

With a deep breath to prepare herself for her newfound freedom, Shilo reached the last stair, and then the door crashed down in front of her.


	25. Chapter 25

2Resa lay awake, staring at the ceiling and swathed in one of the musty sleeping bags Nathan had thought to bring. Needless to say, she didn't get out much with them. Nathan lay on the floor beside her, having satisfactorily forced her to take the couch after they'd cleared it of cobwebs and flipped over the cushions. It was ancient, but thankfully the bottoms were free of mold.

Slowly so the springs beneath her wouldn't creak too loudly, she rolled to her side, pushing her hair out of the way and peeking over the edge at the man. He slept with an arm under the pillow, and his glasses hung lopsidedly from one ear. Resa smiled gently and reached out to slip them off. He looked so much younger without them, and there was some kind of innocence about his sleeping face that set her heart off.

"Nathan," she whispered tentatively, hoping he would wake up and spend the night just sitting and talking with her, like kids at a sleepover. "Nathan!"

He stirred and let out a little snore, but his eyes remained blearily closed. Resa's cheek slumped to her arm, and she blew her bushy hair away noisily. She didn't feel like sleeping. She was too revved, whether from the excitement or the fear or the worry, or Nathan's kiss or the hope she'd held that he'd roll over and make room for her in his sleeping bag when it was time for bed. He hadn't, simply giving her an awkward goodnight kiss and going to sleep, and she'd been disappointed. "Prude," she whispered at him, poking his shoulder. He breathed contentedly. "The least you could do after today is hold me."

She watched him sleep a little longer, watched his brow furrow and the sleeping bag become more and more twisted around his feet. Sighing, she unzipped her sleeping bag and kicked out of it, standing up. The nightgown Nathan had grabbed for her was old and too small, so she'd put on shorts underneath. She was grateful, but he wasn't good at packing in a hurry, and she'd told him so many times. Finally he'd offered to go back and pick out her proper clothes, and maybe she could make him a list and he could stop for groceries on the way, get her oil changed.

"That'd be great, thanks," she'd smiled, teasing at his shirt with her socked toes. He'd been reading, maybe that was why he'd started getting annoyed with her. But she was bored. The books he'd brought were new to him, but she'd read them a dozen times. "While you're out you can get my video games. My favorite is in my drawer at work."

He'd looked up at her over his glasses, and she smiled wickedly. "I'm bored. Entertain me," she said simply. Nathan laughed, though it was more a scoff.

"How?"

She looked down for a moment, thinking. "Give me a piggy back ride."

"You're too big for that."

"Wrong answer," Resa replied, lying down on the hard floor and putting her legs on the couch. "Being a refugee is boring."

"Should've thought of that before you became one."

She wanted him to kiss her again, but he was involved in his novel. She wanted him to do _something_ with her, anything. She'd have been happy with the old board game they found in the closet and blew all the dust and dead things off of. Finally he'd pulled out her laptop and a few DVDs so he could keep reading. It wasn't what she'd had in mind.

"You're not very fun to be a refugee with," she told him, almost pouting. He shrugged.

"Again, should've thought of that," he told her. Sighing, she'd propped the computer on her knees, and that was the end of that.

_You're not very fun to be romantic with either,_ she wanted to say, but didn't want the silent treatment. "You're not very fun cheese, either," she settled for, deciding passive aggressive metonymy was a more encrypted route. Why was it suddenly funny between them? Why was it easier for him to read than to talk with her? Did he sense that she felt weird in her old house? Or did he just not want to think about anything right now, even her?

The wood was cold and dusty beneath her toes as she drifted towards the stairs. She hadn't looked around yet, not wanting to break down in front of Nate again, because even the familiar wallpaper was raising lumps in her throat. The rooms upstairs were almost bare though, which it made them easier to look at. In her old room she found an old wooden train of Bea's, though the rest had been cleared. She picked it up, dropping to the floor and pushing it along absentmindedly. It trailed in the dust and left tracks.

Resa held it up near her face, studying the marks and drawings left by three-year-old hands. She didn't even remember it. It had been just another toy.

Suddenly she dropped it, and it clattered to the floor. Shilo. She'd completely forgotten about Shilo. She had to tell Nathan, had to tell him about his daughter, that she was alive. She used the doorknob to climb to her feet.

_Don't._ Something whispered to her. She stopped. _Why tell him? Why wreck everything? Why risk that he'll run off to find her and get caught and leave you alone?_

He had to know. It was his daughter. He deserved to know.

_He's irrational. He doesn't think. You can't destroy everything._

Resa gripped the handle. This had all killed him. She could restore a bit of his hope. He wasn't stupid. He wouldn't run off.

_What if she was already dead? He'd poisoned her. You heard the Largos. Maybe she was dead and you'd put him through that loss again. He's better off not knowing._

"I can't not tell him," Resa murmured to herself. He'd poisoned her, the thought echoed around her brain. Not Nathan. Nathan couldn't have done that. The Largos could have been lying to force her into spilling something. "They knew she was alive. They know everything. They have cameras everywhere."

_They knew you were involved with Nate. They're not stupid. They only brought her up to upset you, and it worked. You're being rash here, and you know it. Don't tell him._

It was hard to stay alive lately, for anyone. Resa pushed a hand down her face, overwhelmed with stress. In all probabilities, Shilo Wallace was dead. And ... and she couldn't put Nathan through that again if she was. And ... she couldn't lose him. No. It might be better to ... at least, withhold her knowledge of Shilo's existence for now. She could play dumb if something happened. She couldn't lose Nathan. She knew he would run off. She knew him.

On her way back downstairs, she stopped in front of the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Why hadn't Nathan wanted her to look? It was her bloody house, she could look if she wanted to. Resa placed a hand on the door, ready to push.

But ... he wouldn't have kept it from her if he didn't need to. If it wasn't for the best. Wasn't that what she was doing with Shilo? For a long time she studied the warped wood beneath her fingertips, and finally dropped her hand. Whatever was behind that door, she didn't want to know.

xxx

Nathan was slowly brought out of a dreamless sleep by the feeling of a smaller body settling down beside his. He stirred for a moment and with the fog of sleep dissipating, a vision gathered before his eyes.

_Shilo?_

The room was dark and he was wrapped under a warm blanket as he felt the bed shift. A silhouette leaned over him, the delicate features of a little girl just barely visible in the stroke of moonlight. He cleared his throat, his voice still husky from sleep. _What are you doing up this late, Precious?_

_I couldn't sleep, daddy. I had a bad dream._ Her voice was high-pitched and distressed. Nathan slipped an arm out from the covers, both to comfortingly squeeze her hand and inadvertently check her pulse. It was too fast for a five-year-old.

_Did you take your medicine before bed? _He was fully awake now, the grogginess giving way to alarm.

_Yes, Daddy, _she said,_ I just had a bad dream. About the outside monsters._ She lifted the covers and snuggled in next to him, her small bald head nuzzled under his chin.

_Precious, you know you don't have to worry about the monsters if you stay inside. They can't harm you indoors._ He wrapped an arm around his daughter protectively, kissing the top of her head. _Nothing can harm you indoors._

xxx

Nathan had untwisted his sleeping bag when she returned to the living room. Resa's teeth ravaged her bottom lip as she looked down at him, and then she knelt next to him on the floor. She took hold of the zipper and opened it, and he looked at her groggily.

xxx

The vision was almost gone in the flash of a few seconds, and it left Nathan feeling helpless as it sank back into the deep sea cavern of his mind. He awoke fully as Resa lay down beside him. He could barely make out her features in the darkness but her mop of hair gave her away. Resa's soft breath brushed his face as she turned to him, and even in the dark he could tell she was smiling. She smelled really good.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, half asleep.

"Relax, you prude, I just want to lie with you," she told him, forcing a smile as she tucked herself under his arm.

"You really shouldn't..."

"Shh. Your reputation is safe with me."

Nathan then couldn't help but chuckle, bringing his arm tight around her.

"What?" She squirmed against him, probably expecting another tickle fight.

"You. You're just great."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I mean, you made this whole thing … well, not horrible. You know; enduring agony. Making soup. Running for our lives. I just couldn't have done this without you."

Resa rolled her eyes, sharing his smile. "Damned straight. You wouldn't be alive without me, let alone running anywhere."

He hesitated, thinking about sharing the vision with Resa, but it had already faded. _You're probably suffering from a subconscious manifestation of what you feel you're missing. _Resa would explain, the psychology enthusiast she was. _Your daughter died when she was born. It was in the records. It happened. This is probably just your amnesiac mind trying to cope with an absence of relationship and memory in your life. _

So Nathan decided not to say anything. She was right, after all. Resa sighed contentedly against him, leaning her head on his chest. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair, his mind wandering again.

"There's something I wanted to tell you," he spoke up suddenly, his voice seeming very loud in the dark.

"Oh really?" Resa mumbled sleepily. "You know we're a bit early in this relationship for that."

"Not that," Nathan smiled. "I meant to apologize." He moved his fingers down to brush her cheek gently. "I'm sorry for hitting you. On that day with the thieves. It was a horrible and atrocious thing to do and I don't want you to think that's who I am."

"Nate," Resa protested, "That seems so long ago already. It's not that important-"

"But it is. And I know you know it is too by the tone of your voice. It has been bothering you and don't pretend it hasn't."

Resa's troubled silence was confirmation enough.

"I just want you to know that I'll never hurt you again. And if there's anything I can do to make it up to you - _anything at all _- just let me know."

Resa was silent. She didn't know what to say, so she pressed her head against Nathan's cheek. Rather than feel angry at him she just felt guilty.

She wanted to tell him about the high hopes she held, how after GeneCo had forgotten about them they could get other jobs. How without the daily killing, she knew that his terrifying counterpart would dissipate and not bother him anymore. She knew that wasn't him. But she didn't want to talk about the future anymore. She was exhausted with 'What'll we do?'s and 'What if?'s and 'This'll never work, Resa, we can't live together and GeneCo will find us and blah-blah-blah's. So she stayed silent, just enjoying Nathan's lips pressing against the top of her head while she could.

"Just don't let him come out again while I'm around, okay?" she said finally, slowly. "I don't like seeing you like that. It's not the Nathan I know."

"Don't worry." Nathan said with conviction. "You'll never have to see that thing again." _I hope..._ he added silently, pulling Resa in and burying his face in her hair. It felt incredible to hold her in his arms, and he lay awake long into the night, listening to her slow breathing and mulling over his dream.


	26. Chapter 26

The next day was the epitome of humid summer heat, without much of the sun. Nathan awoke to a streak of mottled, straining sunlight shining in his face from the window and he squinted, bringing his arm up over his eyes for a moment. "We need to get curtains." He mumbled.

"If we add curtains a neighbor might notice and think someone moved in," came Resa's voice, always rational, from somewhere behind the sunbeam.

"I didn't see any other houses when we got here yesterday. Where are these so-called 'neighbors'?" Nathan sat up, locating Resa who was curled up on the couch, looking as if she had just woken up herself. Nathan wondered why he didn't feel her get out of bed.

She fiddled with a curl of hair, weaving it through her fingers. "They're down the river."

"The river?"

"It's about a ten minute walk from here. There's a hunter's cabin there where a man and his dogs used to stay in the summer. And then there was Miss White, and the Douglas family, and some others too, farther on."

"Oh." Nathan paused. "That sounds like a lot of people. Are you sure we're safe here?"

"I think we'll be fine as long as we stay away from the road and don't leave lights on at night." Resa stood. "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower."

She came back a minute later. "The water's not working."

Nathan stopped unpacking his bag from where he was crouched, rolling back on his heels. "The faucet and the shower head? What about the sink?"

Resa shook her head, crossing her arms. "Nothing comes out but some mud. Everything's connected to the river though, the pipes sometimes got clogged with sediment. I'm surprised the water wheel dad built still works, actually. We've got power."

"Do you have any other faucets in your house?" Nathan asked before he could stop himself.

Resa glanced quickly at the kitchen door, and then back to him. Neither of them moved for a moment.

"Well," Nathan broke the silence, his voice sounding too cheery, especially for him. "We'll just have to get water from somewhere else, won't we? Do you have a well?"

Resa nodded. "We used to, but it always dried up in the summer." She tried to appear nonchalant, but he could hear the worry in her voice. "Nathan, what are we going to do?"

He got to his feet, dusting off his hands in a dramatic motion even though they weren't dirty. "I'll just have to go down to the river with a few buckets."

"But people could see-"

Nathan sighed. "Do you have a better idea?"

And that was how he found himself, bucket in hand, marching through the woods behind Resa's house. There was a wide trail running in the middle, but he stuck to the shade, wary and listening. The only sounds he heard were birds chirping and his own footsteps, padding through the soft moss and dark, moist dirt. Eventually he could hear the static roar of water not far away, and it was only a few minutes before he reached the edge of the stream. He paused and looked around under the arching branches of an ash tree, one of the only types that could still thrive in polluted air. Nothing stirred. He was completely alone with his thoughts again, and that terrified him more than anything.

The Repo thing had stayed quiet since yesterday in the kitchen, and he almost expected it to start another episode right there and now, but it hardly stirred. Nathan supposed it really didn't see a point of making the effort when there was nothing to do.

He crouched at the water's edge, scooping his bucket into the water. It came up half filled with debris. Nathan sighed. The river was going too fast; he would need to find a calmer spot.

He hiked down the bank, remembering Resa's warning about the nearest house being upriver. She had wanted to come, but of course if anyone saw her they would recognize her instantly. It would draw infinitely less attention if he went alone.

A few hundred yards downriver, Nathan came across a small pool where the river branched off. He crouched, slowly dipping the bucket into the pool and waiting for it to fill up. He was about to leave when something caught his eye.

A red burlap sack bobbed in the riverbed, the rope that tied it shut catching on a branch. The sack was bulging.

Nathan lifted the full bucket and set it on land before approaching the sack. It was within his grasp if he stretched. Nathan recognized the label on the sack as something he'd seen in a marketplace before, and hoped it contained food. Potatoes, maybe, or rice. Although he doubted river-water soaked rice would be delicious, at least it was food.

He got on his hands and knees and stretched an arm out for the sack, feeling a dull pain from the scarred bullet wound in his chest. He was right, the burlap sack was within his grasp and he yanked it off the branch with some difficulty, pulling it to shore. It was heavy.

Nathan opened it, expecting to see pounds of soaked and sticky rice, but instead discovered a mass of damp, matted fur. What was this? Some kind of dead animal? His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Nathan carefully shook the contents onto the shore, discovering that he was half right. An entire litter of puppies tumbled out, most of them limp. Nathan touched their soft fur, feeling a pang of regret. These had no doubt been a product of one of the dogs the hunter owned upstream, and he either didn't have the time or couldn't afford to raise them.

Nathan sighed; he was about to pick up his bucket and leave, when one of the bundles of fur squirmed. He stopped, almost hopeful.

The squirm came again, and a little brown head raised from the pile, blinking mournful black eyes at him.

"Well, aren't you lucky?" Nathan chuckled, picking the small animal up. It looked like a cross between a hound and some kind of mutt, with thick, floppy brown ears, paws too big for its body, and a tail that wouldn't stop wiggling. It was trembling, cold and wet from the river, but it still tried to lick his face. Nathan laughed, taking off his jacket and wrapping the cold little body snugly in it. "I know someone who will just love you," he said, bundle in one arm and the bucket in the other. The dog yipped as if it understood, and buried its face in his jacket. Nathan started back again, grinning the whole way.

Resa heard the door close and pulled the beaker of beans off of the lab hot plate. She'd happened to have grabbed both from her office, and they'd had come in handy. She was starving, and she was sure Nate hadn't had a full-course dinner either.

"Breakfast, Nathan!" she called, voice echoing off of the empty walls as she put the hot plate up on the mantle so they wouldn't step on it. The air away from it was uncomfortably cool, so she drew the blanket around her. She heard Nathan's footsteps. "We really need wood for a fire," she complained to him as she strode towards the couch.

Suddenly something was underfoot and she yelped as she tripped over it. Fur tickled her feet. A badger? A raccoon? She was on the ground, and so was the food. She was more focused on the ferocious beast that had attacked her, though, and scrambled back onto the couch, trying to find it. "Nathan!" she shouted in a panic.

Then it sprung up at her and she screamed; it was going for her face. "_Nathan!_"

Then it was gone and she climbed onto the back of the couch, pressing herself against the wall. What had that man let in their hideout? She peeked over the edge; whatever it was, it was licking the beans off of the floor. It was littler than she thought, and fluffy and furry and brown. Resa didn't relinquish her wall position.

"Is that..." she asked shakily as Nathan entered. It barked shrilly, and she jumped. The couch slipped a bit away from her feet. "Is that a dog?"

"Just a puppy," Nathan smiled, though the look faltered as he caught her terrified expression. "You're not scared of her, are you?"

"No!" Resa said, too quickly. "It just startled me is ... where did you find a dog? Why'd you bring it back here?"

"_Her,_" Nathan corrected, leaning down to pick up the wriggling thing. "I thought you'd like her. I found her in the river, and I figured we could take care of her before it did. Is ... is that okay?"

"I don't ... I ... I've never been near a dog," she said slowly, watching the animal squirm in Nate's arms. "Or anything really. Except for Bea's kittens."

"You've never pet a dog?"

"No, I guess it's kind of odd. But Lauren was allergic ... and then we were in the city, and Bea was sick..." She couldn't take her eyes off of it. The thing ... didn't look _so_ bad, she finally conceded. It was actually kind of cute. "Is it ... is _she_ safe?"

"Of course," laughed Nathan. "Get down from there, don't be silly. It's just a puppy. Your puppy."

"My...?"

Resa slowly inched down from the defensive and stood in front of Nathan. He held out the dog for her, but she just patted it on the head. It licked her fingers immediately, and she yanked her hand back. The rough pink tongue felt weird.

"It spilled the food," she said automatically. Nathan smiled.

"Good, she's probably starving. We can make more."

"I ... I guess." Resa tried to pet the animal again. Its downy fur was really soft, and a little damp, and the wet pink nose that nudged her palm was cold. The smell when it yawned was odd and sweet, but pleasant. So that was puppy breath. She still didn't know what to think of the little thing. Her heart was still thumping from the episode.

"Hold her," Nathan said brightly.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, that's okay," Resa tried to avoid the dog, but Nate grabbed her hands and put them around the soft pink belly. It leapt up on her chest and began licking her face, and she had to keep from shouting. There was the smell again. Resa pulled it away from her face and held it awkwardly, but it rammed her and snuggled into her nightie. She felt the warm fur on her stomach, through the gown. Quickly she looked up at Nathan, unsurely. He was grinning. She was still stunned. She didn't know what to think.

"She likes you," he beamed.

"I ... she's okay," Resa said, but already her heart was beginning to warm towards the animal. It really was sweet, and its little tongue curled when it yawned again.

"I have a name for her already," Nathan said, sounding excited.

"Oh yeah?"

"Shilo."

Resa's stomach suddenly did a guilty flip, and she stepped back. "I don't think that's a good idea, Nate," she said slowly, running her fingers through the slightly matted fur. _He could teach Guilt Trips 101_, she thought. Nate looked a little surprised at her refusal. "I just ... it's a psychology thing. If you name something after someone you lost, the connotations will always be bad. That person or ... dog ... won't ever get the same kind of love, just because they remind you of your grief."

_Way to go, Resa,_ she thought proudly, as he seemed to buy it. She'd pulled all that out of her ass, of course, but it sounded good.

"Well, I guess Marni and Beatrice are out of the picture, too, then," Nathan said with a small smile and a shrug. "They were my next suggestions."

"See? You're a little sadder just saying the name," Resa pointed out. "We'll just have to think of something."

She lifted the little dog up in front of her. "You'll just have to be Puppy for now, won't you?" she asked, trying not to use a babying voice just because the thing was kind of cute. Then it nuzzled her face, filling all her sensations with soft fur and puppy breath and warmth and happiness. Resa grinned and laughed, before she caught Nathan's expression of self-pride, and she cleared her throat quickly. She pulled the dog back down into her arms, where it began playing with one of the tassels on her blanket.

"You like her," he accused, sounding like a happy child. Suddenly Resa was unable to keep from smiling.

"I love her," she said softly as she looked at the little bundle of fur in her arms, unable to pretend otherwise. "Thank you, Nate."

"You're more than welcome," Nathan smiled, watching the puppy wriggle its damp and furry body in her grasp. Its pink tongue shot out to lick Resa's fingers and she laughed. "How are we going to feed her though?"

Nathan glanced down at the beans spilled across the floor. "Well, I know what her first meal can be. And maybe we can teach her to be a hunting dog or something. She's got the genes for it."

Their new pet could smell the beans, and she began struggling to be let down. Resa set her on the floor and she made a beeline for the breakfast. Resa picked up the empty beaker, miraculously still in one piece, turning it over in her hands. "I guess. There were a lot of rabbits around here when we were kids."

The puppy lapped noisily at its breakfast, wolfing down the lumpy brown puddle with hungry intensity.

"And you could start a garden too." Nathan pointed out. "The air here isn't too bad. You could probably grow a few things you couldn't before."

Resa smiled. "What are you getting at, Nathan?"

Now it was his turn to look sheepish. "I don't know. When we moved in I thought this would be temporary until everything died down. But... maybe living here for a while wouldn't be so bad after all."

"Nate," Resa's smile grew even wider. "That'd be perfect. But before we stink forever, we should fix the problem with the water."

xxx

Nathan peered down into the well, being careful not to put too much weight on the old brick wall surrounding it. The well could have been twenty or thirty feet deep, and the last ten feet were shrouded in darkness. He pulled out a match from his pocket to strike it and light a nearby stick on fire.

A high-pitched whine came from near Nathan's feet. "What?" He looked down at the dog, who watched him with wide eyes. "Shouldn't you be inside with Resa?"

The dog wagged its tail.

"Well, fine then. I could use some company." Nathan glanced toward the house, where the ex-surGEN was inside finding something else for their breakfast. He wanted to remind her not to go in the kitchen, but she probably already knew. Resa hadn't gone in it yet. Maybe she trusted him enough to stay away, even if it was an inconvenience for both of them.

Nathan turned back to his task as the fire spit and crackled at him, eating its way up the stick. He dropped his makeshift torch into the well, watching the flames plummet to the bottom. It cast a glow against the damp stone walls all the way down and hit the ground in a few seconds, illuminating the bottom in flickering light.

Nathan squinted, examining the well. The bottom was completely dry and covered in leaves, twigs, and various other bits of nature that had fallen in over the years. No dead animals, thankfully. He had seen enough dead things in this house already.

"Well, I'm going to have to find some way to clean it out," he said aloud, drumming his fingers on the ledge. "Or it'll be brown when the water level rises."

The dog yipped in answer from where it was chasing its own tail.

As he was staring into the well, the fire on the stick caught a leaf. Soon all the debris at the bottom of the well had been ignited and was burning noisily, being eaten alive by the flames.

"Well ... that was easy." Nathan dusted off his hands, about to go back in the house and help with breakfast. Suddenly, a horrible realization struck him.

"Shit!" he shouted, "The smoke!"

Clouds of it were billowing from the fire out of the well and upwards, a clear signal for anyone nearby. He stumbled back in a panic, tripping over the dog. She let out a yip and scurried out of the way as he landed on his back.

"Nathan, what's wrong?" Resa poked her head out from the back door.

"The smoke!" he cried, scrambling to his feet. "How could I have been so stupid? Someone will see!"

Resa's eyes grew wide as the realization dawned on her. "Quick! Grab the bucket!"

Nathan did as she said, dashing around the side of the house to retrieve the bucket of water he had brought back from the stream. He raced back, not caring that half the water sloshed over the edge and spilled everywhere. When he got there, Resa was leaning over the edge of the well, waving her arms, pointlessly trying to diffuse the pillar of heavy gray smoke. "Look out!" Nathan cried, before wildly flinging the water, bucket and all, into the well. It burst at the bottom, smothering the flames with a hiss.

For a minute, they stood there looking at each other and panting. Resa's hair had come loose from the bun she had tried to capture it in, and now it sprung out in reckless coils. She had yanked off her apron too and tossed it into the well in an attempt to smother the flames. Nathan glanced apologetically at her, trying to suppress a laugh. "Sorry." He mumbled. "I should really think these things through next time."

Resa smiled at Nathan, even though she still worried a bit about the smoke. It wasn't a big deal though. There wasn't anyone around for a while, and it didn't look like a lot. Most of it was dissipating when it hit the trees overhead anyway, and the rest only added to the general smog.

"It'll be fine," she assured him in a pant, rubbing at her bare arms to try and dissuade some of the sweat. The chilly air was already beginning to nip. "At least we got it before it went too bad."

Nathan hummed in agreement. "We should get inside."

"Yeah, we-"

Resa was suddenly looking around at ground level. "Where's Puppy?" she asked, panic beginning to seep in. "Oh, God, she doesn't know not to run off, what if she's off getting mauled, or drinking bad water, or-"

"Resa, relax, I'm sure she's fine," said Nathan, putting a hand on her damp shoulder. "She was just hanging around me, she knows not to go off."

"Puppy!" Resa was already calling frantically. "Puppy, come here, where are you?"

"Resa..."

"Oh, there she is," she finally spotted the ball of fur, wagging its tail at the edge of the bit of clearing. Resa started making ridiculous cooing and calling noises that she didn't even know she was capable of, until the dog finally began to move towards her. It was favoring its back paws though, and one was curled beneath against her chest. Resa stopped dead.

"Nathan, there's something wrong with her leg," she said slowly. Her doctoring instincts were beginning to take over and she rushed towards Puppy, gathering her in her arms. It whimpered a bit and licked her hand.

"Oh, it's fine," said Nathan, quickly examining it. "Just a bruise, that's all."

"No!" Resa said, voice much higher-pitched than normal. "She's hurt! Nathan, we let her get hurt! I'm a horrible mother!"

Suddenly she was sobbing, holding Puppy to her face. There was a thumping noise as the little tail wagged against her stomach, but she couldn't hear it. If she'd looked back at Nathan she would've caught him rolling his eyes. "What'll we do?" she squeaked. "Did you bring med supplies? I've never operated on a dog before, but..."

"Resa!" Nathan tried again. "Relax! She's fine!"

"Look at her leg!" Resa cried hysterically. Puppy yapped and licked her face. "She's gravely injured! I need to fix her, I need to..."

There were bandages in the cupboard! There were always bandages in the cupboard, and antibiotics and splints. Above the sink. She knew there were.

_"Mommy! I hurt my arm!" cried Bea, running towards the house. "Resa pushed me!"  
_

_"I did not, you big baby!"  
_

_"Yes, she did! She pushed me 'cos I ate her Barbie feet!"  
_

_"You ate my Barbie feet?" Resa cried, sprinting after the little girl in a bright red dress. "Lauren! She ate my Barbie feet! How can I operate on Barbies with no feet?"  
_

_Lauren laughed. She had a big smile. "She didn't eat your Barbie feet, silly. She doesn't know what she's saying half the time."  
_

_Bea had a huge pout on her face, holding out her arm solemnly for Lauren to inspect. Resa watched grumpily.  
_

_"I didn't push her," she grumbled. "Twelve-year-olds don't push babies."  
_

_"I'm not a baby!" Bea protested.  
_

_"Hey!" Lauren shouted, and Resa looked up at her, pushing back her chaos of hair. "Bea _is_ pretty hurt – she might need a doctor. How would you like to operate on her, instead of just plastic? You're the best medic I know."  
_

_Resa's face lit up. "Better than you?" she asked expectantly, breathlessly.  
_

_"Of course!"  
_

_A real patient! "Okay!" Resa shouted, already running to get the first-aid kit from the kitchen.  
_

_"I wanna help!" Bea shouted, and Resa looked back to see her stumbling behind.  
_

_"You can't operate on yourself, Bea!"  
_

_"Yeah, I can!"_

Resa shoved the dog into Nathan's hold. "I need to get the first-aid kit!" she said, still panicking.

"Reese, just get the bandages from-"

But she was already running for the house, for the kitchen. The cupboard above the stove. For a moment she wondered if she could reach now, and then almost laughed at herself. She'd grown a few inches since she was fifteen.

"Resa! Resa, wait!" Nathan cried, but she was already in the house. What if she forgot? What if she ran into the kitchen? That last thought was enough to make him break into a sprint. He had to stop her before she saw-

But it was too late.


	27. Chapter 27

"So, I think you owe me an explanation." Trish reclined on top of a dumpster, chewing gum and staring down at Zaire. "You told me you were an orphan."

The black girl glanced away sheepishly. "I never told you that. You assumed it."

"I assumed it because I know if I still had parents, I wouldn't be wasting my time on the streets like an idiot. I would be doing whatever they wanted to be getting clean sheets and the guarantee of a meal every single day." She sighed. "Zaire, street life may seem easier to you right now. You've only been out here for so long. But the truth is, it is really tough. It's exhausting not knowing if you'll find food tomorrow, or see the inside of a jail cell because of one slip-up picking someone's pocket. It's terrifying to go to sleep at night with the possibility that you won't wake up in the morning." She ran a finger lightly down her arm, where fading needle pricks scarred the skin. "It's tough out here. Especially for someone like you."

Zaire looked up at her sharply. "What do you mean, someone like me? Someone disabled?"

A soft groan came from Rat from where he curled near the bin fire. He had been sleeping again, but their voices woke him up.

Trish sighed. "That's not what I meant. You're young. You're not street smart. I'm surprised you've even made it this far, but that's probably because you've got us watching out for you." She spit out her gum and hopped off the dumpster, landing lithely on her feet. Zaire felt a tinge of envy. "I know it's none of my business what your parents did or didn't do to deserve your abandonment, but I just want what's best for you. And I don't think living on the street is your best option."

Zaire clenched her fists and then unclenched them. "Those people are no parents of mine. I never want to see them again."

"Oh, Zaire. Surely you don't mean that."

She turned and stared at Trish. "You have no idea." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she fought to compose herself. Zaire took a few steps forward, inhaling the dusky air and fighting sudden hot tears that rose in her eyes. "You asked me once how I lost my leg." She started pacing, drawing a shuddering breath. Trish watched her, wide eyes shimmering in the firelight.

Rat moaned a few feet away, but Zaire ignored him. She was in too deep now to stop the flow of words. "It was all my fault. Everything.

"My brother used to be crazy about trains. He loved them. My parents bought him a train set for Christmas one year and that's all he played with for weeks. He was six at the time. Well, he couldn't have been more ecstatic when he learned that Crucifixus still had a train station." Zaire stopped suddenly and laughed with bitterness. "The one city in two hundred miles that still has transportation by train and it has to be Crucifixus."

Trish approached her slowly, her eyes shining with pity. "You don't need to tell me this if it's too hard for you."

Zaire swallowed. "No, I think I should. I think someone else should know." She glanced sidelong at her friend. "And you've been so good to me. So patient. Sometimes it feels like you're being the adult so I don't have to. I just… if someone had to know I'd want it to be you."

Trish nodded solemnly. "I appreciate that."

"So … anyway." Zaire stared into the fire, feeling the memories begin to assault her senses again.

_She could smell the oily tracks and feel the people pushing and shoving around her, pressing expensive suits and perfumed skin against her and her brother. The tracks were everywhere, at least five rows deep, striping across the ground in oily steel and iron. People were everywhere too, not just on their platform but all over the place, shouting and jabbering and making a constant ruckus that was only broken by the long and melancholy cry of train horns.  
_

_One horn sounded then, from a new train still a few hundred feet away.  
_

"_Sis!"  
_

_She looked down at her brother, who was tugging eagerly on her hand. "Sis! The train's coming! We've got to see it!" His eyes were wide and shining with boyish glee. His breath came in short gasps, and there was a faint red stain on the corner of his mouth from the candy Zaire had bought him.  
_

_She squatted down to his level. "Remember, Bo," she shouted over the noise. "You can't tell mommy and daddy I took you this far away from home. They would be mad."  
_

"_I know," the boy whined. "We pinky swore, remember?"  
_

_Zaire laughed. "How could I forget?" She'd had no plans to take her brother out that morning, but his puppy-dog eyes were horribly manipulative. Their father was at work (again) and their mother was in bed with the flu when he came to her room after kindergarten. He had been hopping from one foot to the other, like he had to use the bathroom.  
_

"_Sis!" he squealed, "Guess what!"  
_

_Zaire hardly looked up from her homework from where she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, books everywhere. She had painted her toenails orange the day before. "What?"  
_

"_They have trains here!" Bo exploded. "They have real trains! Right here! In Crucifixus!"  
_

_She glanced up in the middle of Wilde then. "That's great, Bo. But you know mom can't take you right now 'cause she's sick. And dad won't have time 'til the weekend."  
_

_His enormous six-year-old grin did not falter.  
_

"_Oh, Bo," Zaire sighed. "You don't expect me to take you, do you? You know we're not supposed to go too far without a grown-up."  
_

_Her brother crossed the room and climbed onto her bed. "Pleeeeaaaase?" He clasped his brown hands in front of him in a begging gesture. "Mom and Dad don't have to know. And Dad won't want to take me on the weekend. It's Beer Saturday." Beer Saturday was like a religion to their father. He and his buddies would get together once every month and drink at the pub or at one of their houses under the pretense of watching sports. Sunday was usually spent sleeping off a hangover.  
_

_Zaire sighed again and looked down at her book. She wouldn't be missing much if she didn't get her homework done. It wasn't like the Dorian Gray character would be getting up to anything besides more drinking and partying. "Fine. But you can't tell anyone."  
_

_Her brother shrieked and threw his arms around her neck. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She laughed as he pulled back and stared at her seriously. "Let's pinky swear." He said, hooking his small pinky around hers. "It's our secret."_

Bo wasn't one to break a pinky swear. Even now in the train station he looked appalled at such an idea. "I won't say a thing," he promised again. "Now can we pleeeeeaase go see the train? It's here!"  


"_Sure." Zaire squeezed his hand and stood up as he began tugging her through throngs of people. They arrived at the edge of the platform, where there was a small ledge between them and the mass of tracks. Some of the tracks had trains parked on them, but none were as beautiful as the one that had just pulled to a stop across the station. _

_Zaire could remember every detail of it, because it was one of the last things she saw before she nearly died. The train was at least a hundred feet long, and its sleek, shiny body snaked back into the horizon and around a bend, disappearing. The front car was painted a brilliant dark blue, the color of the sky halfway between evening and midnight. Its windows were gray and translucent, behind which Zaire could make out the silhouette of a conductor, professional and mustached in his starched red uniform, beckoning people aboard. In that moment she understood with sharp clarity why her brother loved these vehicles with a passion. In that moment she completely believed that spending her Wednesday on this adventure was utterly worth it.  
_

_Until the entire world crashed down around her.  
_

_Zaire hadn't been careful, too focused on the beautiful beast parked across the railway. Suddenly she realized Bo's small hand was no longer in her own. Glancing down, she gasped. "Bo! What are you doing?"  
_

_He froze where he had climbed off the platform, looking up at her guiltily. "I wanna go see inside! They're saying people can go in now!"  
_

_Zaire struggled for words, too gripped by fear to manage anything before her brother took off again, darting across the lines. "Wait!" she sputtered, a horrible feeling gripping her heart. "Bo!" she shouted, "Get back here now!"  
_

_That was when she saw the train barreling down on him. It seemed to happen in slow motion. In a few seconds, the screeching metal would collide with his tiny body and throw him fifty feet, crushing his bones and leaving his limbs in a twisted heap. "Bo!" Zaire screamed. "Bo! Look out!"  
_

_But the shouts and horns and noise were all too loud. Her brother heard nothing as he raced across the tracks, the monstrous machine hurtling towards him like a bullet.  
_

_She flew off the ledge then, landing and not noticing the pain shooting up her leg as she twisted her ankle. "Bo!" she shrieked again, hysterical.  
_

_That time he heard her. He turned slowly, confusion in his eyes as he saw his sister sprinting towards him. Then he saw the train bearing down to his left, and he screamed.  
_

_Then Zaire was crashing into him and shoving him out of the way. He hit the ground with a sickening crack as his head collided with a rail. Zaire scrambled to get to her feet, tripping and falling on the slick beams and screaming and crying and terror. Suddenly the train was there, all its heat and screeching and shiny metal and that terrible, terrible smell as it rolled over her knee, crushing the skin and muscle and bone. She tried to scream again but the pain was too much, it was swallowing her body and her vision and everything was cold; everything was so horribly cold.  
_  
"Oh, you poor thing," Trish murmured. Zaire sunk into her friend's embrace, sobs wracking her body. She was trembling as the memory continued its violent assault.

_Zaire's parents gave her a new leg, and her brother had to have a frontal lobe transplant from when his head hit the rail. There was a lot of shouting at night from them, and several times Bo would climb into her bed at night and huddle against her, covering his ears. (He would always climb on her right side, because he didn't like to be close to her artificial leg. It scared him.) Every night they would shout and then Zaire's mom would end up crying. Once in the middle of the night someone came to the door. Their father answered it and they talked in hushed voices for over an hour. And then when Zaire woke up one day Bo wasn't there. Her parents told her that he had gone away for a while to see relatives. They said it would help him heal if he could forget about Crucifixus for awhile.  
_

_Zaire was suspicious at first, but the suspicion grew when he didn't come back for months. Then the months turned into years. She asked her parents repeatedly about him, but they always shushed her. Her mom assured her that she was in constant contact with him, and he was doing fine but was still very fragile and if they brought him back too soon then he might withdraw.  
_

_It was almost two months ago, a clammy day in April, when she ran away. Zaire had pulled out the old train track Bo had played with, which her parents had stashed away. They had all his things stashed in boxes now. She had nightmares about trains ever since the day she lost her leg, and Zaire thought if she started small then maybe she could work her way up and eventually lose the fear. She had pulled out the toy from the box and was setting it up on the floor. Her dad came into the room, tying his tie. "Zaire," he said, "What are you doing?"  
_

"_Just playing, dad," she answered quietly. "Dad…?"  
_

"_Hmm?" He finished with his tie and glanced at his watch.  
_

"_When is Bo coming back?" Zaire had asked the question a million times before, but this time there was a long, uncomfortable pause from her father. She glanced up at him. He was staring off into space for a full minute before he answered her. She wished he hadn't.  
_

"_Zaire, what are you talking about? Who's Bo?"  
_

_Something cold settled in her stomach. "Bo. Your son. My brother. That Bo."  
_

_Zaire's father stared at her, his face expressionless except to show faint surprise. "Sweetie, you've never had a brother. You're an only child."  
_  
Trish sucked in a breath. "He actually said that?"

Zaire held her face in her hands from where they were now huddled around the fire. Rat had ceased his moaning and was either asleep again or listening intently to her. She looked up at her friend, wiping the tears from her eyes again. "Yeah. He actually did. And my mom agreed with him." Zaire hacked and spat into the fire, feeling satisfaction as the spit hissed and sizzled as it died. "They pretend he never existed. And if they were going to do that, I couldn't live with them anymore. I ran away, packing a bag full of food that got stolen on my second night."

She turned and smiled grimly at her friend. "It's a good thing you found me. I couldn't have lasted much longer out here by myself."

Trish wrapped an arm around her. "I know. When I found you, you were curled up like a little mouse and you were in gang territory. I'm honestly surprised you made it."

"Yeah," Zaire sniffed. "Now do you see why I can't go back there?"

Trish was silent for a moment, the flickering light playing across her features. Suddenly Rat moaned again across from them. "You guysh, I need drugsh," he slurred.

"You just had an advil," Zaire told him.

Rat popped an eye open. "That wossh juss an advil?" He glared accusingly at Trish. "You tol' me it was Z."

Trish sighed. "Can't you just shut up for awhile? We get it. You're in pain. Heron isn't going to give you any more drugs until you pay her."

Rat turned his gaze pleadingly on Zaire. "I've got cocaine stashed-"

"Oh hell no," Trish interrupted. "You're not asking Zaire to be your little drug monkey."

The thief glared at her. "Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'll fuckin' crawl all the way to Heron's myself if I have to."

"I'll go," Zaire sighed.

Trish turned to her. "Are you sure? You just-"

"What? Bared my heart and soul to you?" Zaire wiped the last stray tears from her cheeks and managed a smile. "Trust me. I'll be fine. And you know if we don't do something Rat isn't going to shut up, and I don't know about you but I need my sleep tonight."

"Okay," Trish gave in. "You have a good point. And don't worry about the night group thing. Jack is going to be here soon." Night group was one of their rules; sleeping street thieves and the homeless were less likely to be attacked if they were in numbers of at least three or more. As a general rule Zaire's group would have to always return to their spot before midnight for protection.

"Got it." Zaire stood up, hesitating. "And Trish?"

The older girl looked up at her.

"Thanks."

xxx

"You seriously didn't find him yet?" Amber said in a slow, deadpan voice, slumped in her father's armchair. It smelled like him, and she hated it. The three men in front of her shook their heads, but she couldn't see their faces. The room swam in front of her anyway. She just wanted to sleep.

A dreamy smile crossed her face and she nodded to one of the men behind her. With a bang, the man on the right collapsed. His colleagues flinched, but knew they'd get worse if they moved. Amber smiled again.

"You're smart guys. The best. Find him," she said sweetly, letting her head drop over the arm of the chair. "Or you know what happens."

When she looked up again the men were gone. She loved the power, but hated this job. Without the money, it was just work, work, work. Zydrate made it easier to deal with, though.

"AMBER!" came an angry shout, and she dragged herself up with a groan.

"_What?_" she growled, slumping on her crossed arms over the huge mahogany desk. Luigi stormed in, punched out a low-number GENforcer with a roar of rage, and slammed his fists on the desk. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fucking good time to be spaced out, isn't it?" he yelled. "Can't you control her?" to the guards. The beefy men looked at each other.

"I'm not a child, Luigi," she drawled. "What the hell do you want now? I've got the whole company-"

"It's not working!" he said angrily. "Those inept shits aren't going to find him if he doesn't want to be found!"

"Well, what else can I do?" she gestured to the monitor, where a hundred little pictures moved respectively. "I've got a million cameras posted in the last place they were spotted, but there's nothing. They could be moving underground, I s'pose." She scoffed. "Why do you care, anyway? It's just Wallace. He's not gonna do anything to jeopardize this company, or his freedom. I say we just leave him be."

"What the fuck, Amber?" His knife stabbed into the desk's top and wobbled, standing on its own. "You're no fun anymore. This is Nathan goddamned Wallace we have here, not some low level Repo. The ones we have are useless. They don't enjoy the kill like he did."

Amber plucked her brother's long knife from the wood and turned it in her fingers, studying it like it was the most interesting object in the world. Slowly, she looked up at him from under her heavy lids, brushing back her dark-again hair. "It doesn't matter. They get the job done most of the time. We're still doing perfectly."

"That's not the point! GeneCo doesn't strike fear into their hearts anymore. We're going soft, they're saying. On the street. Just because two or three rats got away."

"The Repos who fucked up were deployed, I hope?" she asked dreamily, leaning back in the oversized chair again.

"Well, yeah. But we need Wallace back. You know we do. He's the best."

"How the hell do you think we're going to get him back?" demanded Amber, getting bored with the conversation. "He was dad's lapdog, not ours. We can't find him for torture or anything. Enlighten me."

Luigi smiled, and it was scarier than the frown he usually wore. Amber raised an eyebrow. "I don't have to. _She_ will."

And he nodded towards the door, where Pavi led two or three GENforcers inside. It was loud, and the visored men were struggling with something.

"Let go of me!" the something was shouting, voice muffled. "What do you want? I-I'll give you anything...!" Amber had to focus her gaze.

"It's a kid," she said simply.

"Wallace's kid," Luigi corrected with a very 'tah-dah' finish.

"Oh," she said softly, staring at the fighting figure. A sack was over her head. "Knock her out," she ordered them, and with a bright flash of electricity the girl went limp in the GENforcers' grip. Luigi ripped the bag off of her head, and Amber stared at the dropped head. Curly, thick, dark hair covered it.

"That doesn't look like the little Graverobber," she said, voice rough, lifting the girl's slack face by the chin and studying it. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. She usually wears a wig, but this is Shilo Wallace," Pavi smiled, gesturing theatrically.

"Oh." Amber let go of her and Shilo's head bounced limply against her chest. "Well, what are you going to do with her?"

"Apparently she still thinks Wallace is dead, which says he hasn't gone back to the house yet. God knows why, if he _loved_ her so much. Hasn't even made contact." Luigi snorted. "But, I think she'll make appropriate leverage. It's not like the pathetic sap had anything else going for him."

"We'll lock her up, try to get some kind of message to him," Pavi explained. "We already left a pretty clear one at the house, but if he doesn't get that one, we'll..."

"Ugh. Shut up." Amber put a hand to her head and turned away. "How did this all happen right under our noses? This is so stupid."

Shilo stirred a bit, muttering something. Graverobber. Anger suddenly flowed through Amber. That little tramp.

She waved a hand at her brothers, trailing the other down he guard's arm as she passed him. "Just deal with it," she told them. "Make hers the most uncomfortable cell you can. Kill the surGEN if you find her."

"Are you sure? She is yours, after all. She's still contracted..."

Amber suddenly turned, throwing the knife towards Pavi. It hit the wall behind him, and he looked shocked.

"I said kill her!" roared Amber.

Pavi looked like he had no more objections.

xxx

What had happened?

Pain.

There was a fucking lot of it.

What the hell happened?

With a strangled yell of agony he dragged himself up on one elbow, gasping for air and grabbing at below his chest. Most of the pain seemed to emanate from there, but his whole body seared.

He was inside. He knew that. He was Graverobber. He knew that, too.

Why did he always seem to be waking up in places he didn't remember going? Christ, you'd think he was the drug addict. Slowly he looked around him, wiping some blood away from his lip. It was still wet on his fingers.

His surroundings were familiar. Shilo's house. A breeze swept through the gaping hole of a front door.

_"Graverobber!"  
_

_"Shilo! Let go of her!"_

The flash almost knocked him to the ground again, and he clapped a hand to his head with a groan. God, this hurt. He had to get up. He couldn't just lie there. He had to find water. Find something. His mouth was drier than the area around a fireplace. A real one, anyway.

Bracing himself, his muscles ripped to shit as he pulled himself up. He stifled the shout that bubbled up and used the table as leverage.

Not so bad. It wasn't so bad. He'd woken up much, much worse.

Shilo. Where was Shilo?

_"Help me!"  
_

_"Let – go – of – her!"  
_

_Pain.  
_

_"This is none of your concern, dog. Go home."  
_

_"Listen, you fuck-"  
_

_More pain._

He stumbled to the next room, tightly pressing his arm to his stomach. Nothing made sense. Everything in the house was broken. Graverobber tore the tap open and water gushed out, splashing against the steel sink. Eagerly he gulped it straight from the stream. Metallic blood from his lips mingled with it.

He dragged himself to the window. It was dark outside, and he winced at the mangled, gory mess of a reflection that stared back. His head was sliced right open, and his lip.

_"_Graverobber_! Stop hurting him, you - you jerks!"  
_

_"Our orders were for you. Stop struggling."  
_

_"There are too many, Graves!"  
_

_"Shilo..."  
_

_Muffled screams.  
_

_One more try.  
_

_Boot to the head.  
_

_Ouch._

He remembered.

"Shilo!" he growled and turned swiftly, trying to come up with a plan of action. The raging fury that pumped through him was a bit of an obstacle, though.

Graverobber had to get to GeneCo. He had to find her.

He must have only been out a few minutes. The blood was only just beginning to dry. He swept a sleeve across his face quickly, but the leather didn't help. Sucking in all the tolerance for pain he'd developed over the years, along with a quick swig of courage in the form of the vodka left in the cupboard, he set off.

GeneCo would fucking pay.


	28. Chapter 28

The smell was the first thing to hit Resa across the face like a fist. She stopped dead, overcome by the tendrils of old copper and something else, and brought a hand over her mouth. Faintly she heard Nathan calling for her to stop, but his voice grew more and more distant. The gory scene was already beginning to attack her mind.

The first-aid kit was forgotten as she took a hesitant, heavy step forward, and reached out to touch a streak of something dark across the wall. It was dried, but she leapt back as if it was white-hot. Slowly her eyes traveled across the floor. Stains of the same deep, dry blood were everywhere. Old blood. Old horrors. Drag marks, boot and hand prints, splashes, spatters. She couldn't escape it.

Screams were beginning to envelop her memories and she clapped her hands across her ears, trying to block them out. She felt herself folding to the floor, but there were more of the awful black pools in front of her. Scrambling backwards, her mind collapsed and she backed against the wall, cradling herself against the shouts.

"Lauren! Get out!"

"What about the kids?"

"They don't want the kids, just leave! Now! I'll-!"

"Adam! No!"

Resa was in the hallway. She'd only wanted a drink. Just a drink. She backed away in horror, mind going blank. She didn't know what to do.

"Please, there are children here! I'm only at eighty days, I swear, I need more time! Adam! Oh, God...!"

The screams. The screams were terrible, and loud. Resa heard her name, and she had to help, and suddenly she found herself pushing at the swinging door, and-

Those eyes. Lauren's helpless eyes, looking up at Resa through the leather gloves that held her face. "Resa ... take care of Beatrice..."

Resa could only stand there, staring in shock. Blood everywhere. And then there was a crack, and the light went from the helpless eyes, and Resa's stepmother was on the ground, with her dad. And everything was over. Everything. The man with the leather gloves looked up, and she remembered the blue light. They looked at each other for a long, long time.

Then there was another man, too.

"Get the kid out of here, she doesn't need to see this."

The animalistic growl that changed everything.

Everything was gone.

"Resa."

So much blood.

"Resa!"

So much screaming.

"Reese, please..."

She didn't want to remember anymore.

"Let's get out, come on..."

She wanted to forget everything.

But she couldn't stop looking.

Couldn't stop watching.

Arms were around her, pulling her hands to her sides from where they hung around her head, cradling her, but she stared past the embrace. She couldn't ... couldn't ... couldn't save them.

Couldn't save Bea.

So much blood.

xxx

Shilo felt herself hit the ground hard, felt the chill of the stone seep through her socks at the knee, felt her mind waking up a bit. The grogginess still waterlogged her though, and she barely had strength to drag herself into something resembling a sitting position.

"What am I doing here?" she murmured to the shapeless mass that looked kind of like a man in the doorway. "I want to go home. I want Graverobber..."

"This is your home now, love," the man cackled. It was exhausting to hold her head up, and it dropped again as the heavy door closed with a resounding _thud_.

She didn't remember anything. Her memory dragged, and she hurt all over. Had she tried to go outside? Did the outside monsters get her? She didn't understand. She wanted her dad.

The stone sent waves of cold up through her when she laid down, pulling her collar up to rest on and curling up. So tired ... she just wanted to sleep. Maybe this was another dream and if she was a good girl like daddy said and went right to sleep, the monsters would go away. They couldn't come inside and they couldn't hurt her at bedtime.

Invisible hands surrounded her and rocked her into a dreamless, dark abyss.

xxx

"Sis?" The voice was quiet, so quiet in fact that Zaire believed she imagined it- until Trish looked over her shoulder and uttered a gasp. She turned and her eyes widened in surprise.

Her brother stood in the middle of the alleyway, clutching a stuffed penguin tightly in his hands.

"Bo!" Zaire scolded, almost unbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

He shrank into the shadows when he heard her abrasive tone. "I followed you back."

Trish stood up, looking between the two of them. "You found him!" she said.

Zaire smiled grimly. "I didn't get to finish the story. I discovered my brother a few weeks ago uptown. He was in an orphanage for boys under a different name."

Bo slowly stepped out of the shadows. "Mom and Dad said I had to pretend to be an orphan. Otherwise the place wouldn't take me. But I don't want to be there anymore." He crossed the pavement and trotted up to his sister. "I want to be with you."

Zaire had to fight back a sob when she looked at her brother's hopeful face. "You can't." She pulled him in and hugged him tightly. "Bo, you can't. It's too dangerous."

He pulled away and stared defiantly up at her. "No! I can do it! I can be a thief like the rest of you! I'm small and I can fit in places!"

"The kid's got a point," Rat wheezed from a corner. He jerked his head up and stared at Bo, who instinctively took a step back. "Hey kid, you want to make some money? Just go get something for me-"

"Dammit, Rat." Trish sounded exasperated. "He's eight years old!"

The man didn't seem concerned. "Look, it's either drugs or... wait, there is no other option. I want drugs!" he finished his sentence with a snarl, trying to appear ferocious.

The only one that was convinced was Bo. He tugged on Zaire's sleeve. "Maybe we should just be thieves together," he whispered. "Nobody else."

She smiled tightly, trying not to cry. "I don't think that will work, Bo." She squatted down again, looking him in the eyes. "I want to keep you safe, honey. You've already gotten hurt once because of me. I couldn't bear it if it happened again."

Bo stared at the pavement and he sank into a resigned silence.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "We've got to get you back before they find out you're missing."

"Let me come," Trish stepped forward. "I would hate to see something happen to you two."

Zaire shook her head. "You should stay. I'll stop by Heron's on the way back to see if she'll give Rat any more drugs."

Rat muttered something that sounded like a thank-you, but she was already leading her brother away.

The walk back was terribly silent at first. The closer they drew to the school, the slower Bo walked, as if he could prolong the inevitable. It broke Zaire's heart to see him like this, but there was nothing she could do. She had already run a million options through her head, and the truth was that he would be safer behind the orphanage's bars than anywhere else she could think of.

To take her brother's mind off the unavoidable, she offered to play a game with him. "How about I-Spy?" she asked.

"Okay," Bo agreed as they veered out of an alleyway to cross a road. The cars, pods, and motorcycles were coming quickly and weren't willing to stop for a few dirty kids. They had to wait for a break before dashing across the hot asphalt and onto the parallel sidewalk.

"I spy, with my little eye, something that is red."

There was a gigantic red GENECO billboard towering over them a few hundred yards away.

Zaire glanced around. "Um … is it that parking meter?"

"No," Bo shook his head and smiled.

She squinted hard, pretending to look everywhere but at the billboard. "Gosh, I don't know. Is it… that man's shoes?"

Bo giggled. "No!"

"Hmm … this is a tough one, Bo. But I'm going to guess the billboard over there. Is that it?"

"Nope!" he grinned triumphantly, surprising even her.

"Then what is it?"

He yanked the stuffed penguin from his pocket. "It's Georgie's scarf!"

Zaire stared at the matted stuffed animal in his hands. It did have a scarf, a plaid one with green and red.

"That doesn't count!" she protested lightly-heartedly. "The game only works if it's something we can both see."

The boy shrugged. "I still won."

Zaire laughed. "Why does that penguin have a scarf, anyway? Penguins don't need scarves."

"It gets cold in the North," her brother said matter-of-factly.

"Ah." She pulled him close and ruffled his stubby hair. "Of course, how silly of me. You're right."

They arrived back at the school too soon, and Zaire was sorry to see her brother go. "I'll be back soon okay?" she said as they broke apart an embrace. "You be good. No more sneaking out. You've got to be brave and stick in there until I can figure something out."

"I know," Bo managed a half-hearted smile. "I'll be brave for you, Sis. You're all I have left."

The simple statement was heartbreaking. She waited till he was out of sight before she let the tears come.

By the time she reached Heron's, she had calmed down. Zaire paused on the sidewalk, wiping the last few streaks of dampness from her face and hoping her eyes weren't too red. She was about to knock when she noticed the door was ajar. As she neared it, she heard crashing and banging coming from inside. She held her breath, hoping that Heron's place was not being robbed, although she had yet to meet thieves brave enough or stupid enough to consider it.

She pushed on the door and it creaked open, over the sound of another crash and clatter of many things hitting the floor at once.

A tall man stood in the middle of the mess, pulling open drawers and rifling through them with quick, violent motions. He had long, thick dark hair, a raggedy brown coat with fur lining and clunky combat boots.

Great. Graverobber. He was the last person she wanted to see. He would probably notice her red eyes and make fun of her.

Nevertheless, she had to find out where Heron was. And stop him from ransacking the place before the older woman came out and beat both their hides raw.

"What do you think you're doing?" she spoke up from the doorway.

Graverobber jumped, painfully knocking over some bottles in his panic. When he turned it was just the dark-skinned girl from before, however, Heron's little helper. He laughed harshly.

"Christ, kid, don't do that," he muttered. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Stealing."

Graverobber laughed again. "It's what I do, isn't it? Anyway, Heron wouldn't care if I took this stuff. If she was here, she'd hand it to me with a smile." He added another bottle of painkillers to his horde. "It's not like I'm not leaving her cash for it."

The girl still looked defiant. Graves was reminded of Shilo in the determined stare. He sighed. "Look, if it'll make you go away, I can give you something too. Not much, I'm not made of money. But a little."

He saw the brief flash of hesitation, consideration, but then she was back. "I'm not going anywhere. Where's Heron?"

"Out, I guess, I don't know. I'm not her mother. Now shut up, it hurts to talk."

Pain was beginning to flare up his sides again, and he popped another two advil. He couldn't do this right now, not when Shilo needed him. He didn't have the strength to deal with urchins right now.

When he looked back she was still there, and had picked up a thick metal rod. "Shit, what the hell do you think you're going to do with that?" he shouted, and his ribs throbbed.

"Whatever I have to," she said grimly, waving towards the door with the pole. "Get out."

"What?" Graverobber choked on a laugh. "Look, I wouldn't be here if it was that simple. I'll leave when I've got what I need. Something's come up, and I can't deal with GeneCo when half my bones are broken and I'm in intolerable pain."

The fire faltered and the girl lowered her weapon. "GeneCo? What do you need with GeneCo?"

Graverobber cocked an eyebrow. GeneCo was the code word? Really? He supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

"They have something of mine," he said slowly, packing some more drugs into his bag. "I intend to take it back."

He felt the girl's stare on his back as he swallowed some more pills, feeling his breaks go a bit numb and his lids get heavier.

"You deal Zydrate, right? Why not just have some of that, instead of stealing from Heron?" she asked.

"Jesus, sparrow. I don't do that."

"Why not?"

"You think I'm going to use that stuff after dealing it all day? Have you seen the kind of shitheads I take money from?" he laughed, though it was bitter. "That's one bandwagon I'll pass."

There was silence. He wondered if she'd left, and swung the bag over his shoulder. Just in case, he lifted the safebox out of her drawer and grabbed the sidearm Heron kept there for emergencies. As he clicked the safety on and stuffed it into his waistband, a shot of pain snapped through his ankle. He winced and grimaced, and fell back in Heron's chair for a moment. There wasn't really a moment he could spare, but he wouldn't be any good to his little Graverobber if he couldn't walk.

For the first time, he looked at the girl properly. She seemed like she was crying, or at least, had been. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable.

"You, uh … you okay?" he asked awkwardly, trying to think of a way out of the situation.

"Fine," the girl snapped.

"Your name is Zaith, right?"

"Zaire."

"Zaire, right. The Z is nice." Graverobber was utterly stumped as to what he should do next. He didn't do the touchy-feely thing. Even with Shilo it was a rare occurrence, only really happening when she got into one of her moods. So he reached out and uncomfortably patted Zaith – Zaire – on the back. She swatted his hand away though, pissed off, and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine. Fuckin' teenage girls. Hormones, right?" He smirked as he threw the bag, heavy with body-numbing drugs, over his shoulder. "I'm remembering why I ditched high school. Anyway, I'm getting out of here. Tell Heron I stopped by and ransacked the place. Money's on the table."

With that, he dropped a few heavy coins and pushed past her.

"Wait-!"

He groaned and turned. "What?"

"It's my brother. I need to get him out of here. I can't wait anymore."

"…And you need money, right? Yadda yadda, same old tune. Learn another one, Zaith."

"Zaire."

"Yeah." Graverobber dug through his bag. Since he'd been staying at Shilo's house he'd needed less and less money for food and rent. He had some extra, and though every greedy, alcoholic muscle in his body screamed against it, he folded it into her hand. Her mouth gaped open.

"Thank you, but … this won't be nearly enough. I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything…"

"Take it. There's a bar just outside the city, Tonto's, and half of that will get you a room there for a month if you mention my name. Take your brother there, and figure yourself out." He sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "The other half will buy you and your brother a new identity, if you want it."

"Th-thank-"

"But if you take the money, you've got to listen to my advice with it. You know what I say? Talk to your parents. Get your life straightened out the easy way. You're what-? Sixteen? Fifteen? Hardly the time to be making it on your own, especially taking care of someone. Talk to them, maybe you can leech a few more years out of them, maybe they'll even give you the money you need. I assume you haven't mentioned your great plan to them."

Zaire looked speechless, a bit untrusting still. He was reminded even more strongly of Shilo.

Despite the worry, Graverobber smiled. "I know I'm not exactly a life coach here, but trust me. The streets aren't for kids. Okay?"

"I–"

"You don't have to do any of that, though, really, if you think it's just me blowing smoke. I'm not going to keep tabs on you or anything. Go spend the money if you want, become a whore to pay for your brother's food, whatever. Just – make sure you think it through." He opened the door again. "Now, I have a kitten to rescue. All luck to you, Zaith."

"It's Zaire," he heard faintly as the door closed behind him. "…Kitten?"

Zaire stood there, awestruck, staring down at the wad of cash clutched in her hand. Before she could say another word Graverobber was gone out the door into the darkening streets. Why had he given her so much money? They hardly knew each other. Even stranger still was the bruises on him. Zaire had come to expect, to some extent, a scuffed-up Graverobber every so often. It was part of his job. But when he turned to leave she caught sight of the massive bump on his head and the dried blood in his hair, and, the most concerning of all, his grim and determined expression. It was if he was on a mission that he knew might not end well.

She hesitated only a second before bursting out the door. "Wait!" she shouted, but the sidewalk was empty. A homeless man across the street gave her a curious look.

She glanced around and then took off in the direction she thought he went, turning a corner and running straight into a tall booted figure.

"Oof!" Graverobber spun around from where he had been leaning against a street light and faced her. "Watch where you're going!"

Zaire stepped back and mumbled an apology before tilting her head curiously at him. "I thought you were in a hurry."

Graverobber mumbled something not very polite before answering her. "I am. I was just... catching my breath." He grimaced. The caked blood in his dreadlocks was even more obvious in the light.

"You're hurt," Zaire pointed out.

Graverobber smirked. "Thanks, Sherlock. Why are you following me, anyway? I gave you the money."

Zaire frowned. "That's exactly why. You gave me a whole wad of cash for no apparent reason. It was almost like you knew you wouldn't be needing it." Graverobber stared at her as she babbled on. "People tend to give away their stuff before they know they're going to die. My cousin gave me her computer before she swallowed a bottle of Tylenol." _Wow, Zaire, shut up._ She clamped her mouth shut, withering under his increasingly impatient stare. _If he didn't think you were a foolish little kid before, he does now._

Before she could open her mouth again and remove all doubt, a flash of metal against his jacket caught her eye. A weapon? She stared back up at him. "What exactly are you planning? You aren't going to go on some crazy rampage, are you?"

Graverobber laughed bitterly and pushed off the street lamp, striding away. Zaire had to sprint a few feet to catch up to him. "I'm not going to go shoot up a mall, if that's what you're thinking," he said slowly, as if reassuring a four-year-old. "But you should run along anyway before you get hurt."

Zaire wasn't convinced. She couldn't just slink away like an injured dog now. There was something in his eyes that compelled her. Something big was happening tonight, and she wanted to be a part of it. Graverobber was walking even faster now, and she couldn't keep up with his long strides. He was purposely trying to lose her. Suddenly she thought of something. "Does this have something to do with your girlfriend?"

Graverobber glared witheringly down at her and she shrank back again. "This is really none of your business."

Zaire protested, struggling to match his pace. "But maybe I can help! I owe you after all the cash you gave me, after all, and I'm not about to just take it and leave."

He stared hard at her, trying to weigh his options. On one hand he could take her along and risk her life and his, but she could end up proving useful. On the other hand, that was stupid, she was young and it'd be completely irresponsible to endanger her like that. On the other other hand, he hadn't listened to his shoulder angel since before he was twenty.

"Okay," he said finally. "I could use the back-up."

Zaire's face split in a grin, and she dragged two fingers across her lips like a zipper. Graverobber nodded shortly and slipped off his dignity, slinging it over his shoulder to wear again later. He was in cahoots with a fifteen-year-old girl to rescue his jailbait, as Heron so accurately described her. This was getting messed up.

"But no talking about boys or whatever normal girls do. I had enough of that ten years ago, thanks."

He heard her protest, but his mind was already elsewhere.


	29. Chapter 29

Graverobber sat outside GeneCo's gates with Zaire, completely clueless as to what came next. He'd expected to charge into the huge building like a slow-motion action scene, wind whipping his jacket around and guns at the ready, and Zaire backing him up like a sidekick. He'd have blown everything to shit, all the bad guys, and Shilo would run out of a back room, still moving like through jell-o, hair flying back and she'd look so gorgeous and grateful, and she'd fly into his arms and kiss him and everything would be okay, and they'd go back home and she'd make him food. And they'd live happily ever after.

He hadn't expected to be kicked out like a dog the second his foot passed through the door.

Now he crouched on a dumpster, glaring up at the huge sign, winking blood red at him like it was mocking him. GeneCo. What a pathetic excuse for a company, and they were supposed to help people. Instead they kidnapped girls and killed his friends and ruined everything. Fucking GeneCo.

"What now?" Zaire asked expectantly, leaning against the stone wall of the liquor store with one foot up behind her. He'd explained the situation while giving away as little information as possible, but at least she no longer though he was a potential mass murderer.

"I thought I told you not to talk," Graverobber said distractedly.

"About boys, yeah. How am I supposed to help you without talking?"

"It'd help the headache I've got."

He put his head in his gloved hand, trying to figure out what they could do.

"We've got to figure out a way in."

"You mean like through the air vents or in disguise or something? Because you were pretty rubbish just now. Like they'd actually let streeters waltz in…"

"And thank you, Zaire. Is it possible for you to not talk for a minute or two? Or is that asking too much?"

"I _can_ help, you know. And you should stop drinking. What are you going to do, knock the guards out with your booze-breath?"

"Thank you, Zaire!"

Fucking Christ, he knew he'd regret bringing her. He just hadn't realized he would so soon.

Well, he had to do something.

Soon.

Now, he needed a break, though. He was very, very sore. And the men inside holding electric prods were very, very big.

He popped another handful of little blue pills, washing them down with a swig of harsh vodka, and waited for some brilliant epiphany to hit him. It usually had by the end of the bottle.

xxx

"Resa?"

The trees were lovely. All dappled orange and green away from the thick city smog, and the rippling light that washed through them to bathe the ground. She saw a deer.

"Resa…"

If she looked hard enough, she could even see the little squirrel-shaped silhouettes that leapt among the trees, and smiled at the little yips that escaped Puppy as she tried to climb the tree trunks after them. She just wanted to play.

"Come on, Reese."

After all, she was very young, and a beagle. Hunting was in her blood. Resa would just have to train her to like small animals. She didn't want to have to deal with any dead cats or rodents when they got back to the city.

"Are you okay?"

She couldn't ignore him any longer, and finally snapped, "I said I needed a minute, okay, Nate? For fuck's sake, just sit there."

Resa couldn't make herself feel bad as his eyes got huge and he went quiet. It wasn't her fault. She just needed to not think about anything, and if she thought about how bad he felt or how angry she was, she'd remember why, and she'd have to think about the blood, and she didn't want to cry or worry or feel guilty anymore. So she stared at the golden forest that danced around them like a scene in a book, and tried to justify everything in her head. She feared she was going a little bit mad.

But that was okay. Nathan was mad, too.

Every few minutes she'd have to swallow down the news of his daughter again, and remind herself to stay silent. She couldn't have him running off to find the biggest part of his life, while she, a sliver by comparison, was having a mental breakdown, could she? Now that the secret he was protecting was on the table, though, she kept feeling as though she ought to throw hers down too.

Watching Puppy leap through the grass like a floppy fool was much easier than arguing with the little bits of her mind that wanted to screw everything up, but they kept prodding, and poking, and prodding until she couldn't see, and then they'd poke a bit more and she didn't like it and she feared she was going insane from all the prodding, and-

Huh. Puppy caught something. It looked like a leaf, but she was disinclined to investigate further.

"Resa, I didn't-"

"Nathan, just – stop making me feel horrible, okay?" She wanted to just yell, not at him, but at anything, at Puppy, but no, she was too cute and she hadn't done anything wrong, she'd just caught something that was bleeding, and it didn't look like a leaf anymore, and the bits were poking-

And then arms were around her, and she was crying again, and she hated it. But it was better than the prodding. Suddenly she was normal again. She wasn't mad or anything, and Nathan was just a big pair of soft arms that were folded around her, and she never wanted them to leave. But she was being cruel right now, and she had to stop. Now. Before something happened.

"Shilo's alive."

With the whisper into the scratchy warmth of his sweater, all the consuming, chewing, maddening guilt seemed to seep from her, and even though she was afraid, she was so, so relieved.

But then his arms fell from her, and she felt only the cold air. She watched him stumble back, watched his handsome wrinkled face crumple into shock.

"What did you say?"

She couldn't make herself say it again. Any attempt only choked its way from a whisper back into her throat, she couldn't do it. But he'd heard her. She knew he did, because he was looking at her with such surprise and hate it made the guilt come back.

"What?" he asked again, running his hands back through his hair. "How?"

"I-I don't know. Luigi said – and Pavi – she's alive. But you poisoned her, Nathan. I couldn't tell you. Because I knew it would rip you apart."

"Poisoned?"

"For seventeen years."

She didn't know what to say next. The man she loved looked like he wanted to kill her. And she was terrified, because she knew he might.

"And your name isn't Williams. It's Wallace." For some reason she wanted everything out. Every tiny thing. Except for one. "I was going to tell you everything, I swear, I just…"

"Can I believe anything you've ever said to me? Or has it all been one huge lie?"

"You can believe I love you."

The words slipped out before she could even clap a hand to her stupid mouth, and he was in her face and she was scared, so scared. But Nathan had promised to never hurt her.

It was Repo staring at her now, though, she knew, and that man had never promised any such thing.

And then it was Nathan again, and she was still alive, and he was on his knees in front of her, all the fight and rage drained from him in an instant. She closed her eyes for a moment before sinking in front of him, putting a hand to his cheek.

"My daughter … my Shilo," he murmured, but the words meant nothing to him. Resa misunderstood and smiled hopefully, hestitantly. He looked up, and she saw the shattered, exhausted look on his face.

The Repo thing, Nathan was ashamed to admit, had broken free for a flash in his anger, but was subdued now. It was still prowling restlessly inside him, however, just as shocked as he was. Shilo? The name carried with it a torrent of emotion suddenly. Anxiety. Guilt. Pain. And a love so strong he forgot to breathe for a moment. Shilo. Shilo. He closed his eyes as the emotions surged around him and expected to be engulfed in memory, but nothing happened. His mind was still hopelessly empty, but for a few fleeting glimpses of the past with this Shilo. What he thought had been dreams before must have been memories.

"Does she know?" he asked numbly.

Resa took her hand away, not catching on. "Know what?"

"What a monster I am. How I poisoned her. How I killed thousands of innocent people. How I … how I killed Marni. Does she know?"

"You didn't-"

"Don't keep lying to me, Resa! _Does she know_?"

Resa looked down.

"Yes," she murmured softly, knowing that he'd leave. He had the slightest urge to pull her into a hug again, but he couldn't. Not now. She had betrayed him.

"Then I have to fix this. I have to find her. Don't follow me."

She just didn't know how painful it would be when he was gone.

Even as he said the words he couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes. He felt dizzy. Instead he stumbled out, almost tripping over Puppy again. The moment he made it outside a rush of cool air hit his face, and he breathed sharply. When he reached the motorcycle he hesitated for a fleeting second. It was leaning innocently enough against the side of the shed, but he remembered all to clearly the beast-like roar of the engine and the reckless speed as it tore through the city with he and Resa on its back.

**Allow me.** The Repo thing stepped into his shoes, filling him with courage and confidence almost immediately. For once, he was grateful.

xxx

Locked in the dank, cold cell, surrounded by the smells of muck and mold, Shilo cried. She knew from the way the sun fell and rose and fell again that she'd only been in the cell for one day, but with nothing but the stone walls and no one except the Genterns who brought food, that day felt like ten. At least when she'd been a prisoner in her home she could move freely, do as she liked. In this place, she realized how lucky she'd been. Well, she hadn't exactly been free, but she could safely say that she'd never known what it was to be a prisoner.

And this was only one day. No one would come to save her. She doubted anyone would even notice she was gone. A flash of Graverobber's face jumped to her mind for a second, but it was the moment when one of the GENforcer's bats cracked against his skull with that sickening thud, and he'd crumpled to the floor in a puddle of his own blood. He was probably dead. She couldn't help but think it. The only man left in the universe who cared about her existence, who she cared about, was dead because of her. The thought made the tears fall faster, in desperate frustration.

When the metal flap in the door grinded open with a screech of metal on metal, and her dinner was fed through, she rushed to the little opening and pressed her face to it.

"I don't want GeneCo!" she screamed through it, as she had the last eight times she'd had contact with a person. "I don't want it, let me go! You can't keep me here! This can't be legal!" She caught a quick glance of a concerned female face before the little door swiped closed again and she had to pull away. Her fists kept attacking the door, however, and she didn't stop yelling until the footsteps went away.

She tried to eat a bit, but her mouth was still wet from crying. She wished she was strong enough to refuse their food in defiance, throw it back at them like in prison movies, but they were decent portions and after a while she got hungry. She figured that GeneCo didn't hold prisoners very often. It tasted like the staff food the higher-ups could get, the meals her dad had sometimes snuck home for the both of them when he didn't feel like cooking. She'd expected drying cheese and hardened bread with no butter. The food, however, was the only thing during this stay she'd been pleasantly surprised with.

She sat for a while, trying to calm down and think of happier things. But it seemed like everyone in her life had been ripped from her. She couldn't think of her father, or Mag. She didn't want to think about Rotti. And definitely not Graverobber. Too much guilt. Even thinking about Graverobber's junkie friends – well, customers – was impossible without watching him deal in her mind, grinning over at her every time he made a particularly good sell. And thinking about him dealing was enough to send her spiraling back to collecting Zydrate with him, and eventually back to that horrible thud as he hit the floor in her entrance the day before.

Shilo curled in the corner. She couldn't _not_ think about him, and it scared her to bits.

xxx

Nathan felt numb. The motorcycle thundered between his legs and the wind whipped his face, but in his mind he was still back in the kitchen with Resa. He allowed himself to lose control for a fraction more, letting the Repo thing take over steering so he could think.

_You can believe I love you,_ she had said, in the middle of her childhood, surrounded by the evidence of her slaughtered family. How could she string words together clearly, let alone confess such a thing to him? Did she really mean it? Nathan's thoughts were so jumbled he didn't know what to believe.

And then her confession. He had a daughter. She was probably beautiful. She probably looked just like Mar-

He was jarred violently from his thoughts when they hit a bump in the road.

"Will you please watch where you're going?" he shouted aloud over the roar of the wind. The Repo thing didn't reply, only tightened his grip on the handlebars. He could feel a thrill run down his spine at how fast they were going, which he knew came from the dark thing. It was enjoying this. The trees whipped by them in rich greens and browns, growing thinner and farther apart as they neared the city. It loomed, massive, bent, and as black as charcoal against the night sky. A constellation of lights flickered from within it, faded and gloomy through the smog. The Repo thing was right at home.

And that was another thing. Repo. How was it going to react to Shilo? He might have someone else to protect from himself. And how was _he_ going to react? What would he say? _Hi there. Sorry about poisoning you for the last 17 years, killing your mother, and lying to you about the entire thing. Oh, and by the way, you are now a complete stranger to me._

Suddenly a cold realization struck him. She probably didn't even want him back in her life. She'd think he was dead, and she was probably happy that way. If he was in her position, he'd want nothing to do with himself. He would have squeezed his eyes shut, but they were glued to the road. No matter how hard this would be for both of them, he owed it to his daughter to try.

The Repo thing stopped at a red light as they entered the city.

_You're a mass-murderer with no regrets. The last thing I'd expect you to do is obey traffic laws,_ Nathan thought.

**Look, you idiot**, the Repo thing made him turn his head and he caught sight of a police car parked nearby. **He'd catch us, and I am not spending a night in jail with you. You're unbearable enough as it is. **

_Oh, so you are good for something,_ Nathan shot sarcastically.

**Face it. I'm your better half. What would you do without me?**

_Be normal,_ he thought numbly as they sped up again.


	30. Chapter 30

Resa gathered Puppy in her arms and buried her face in the short velvety fur, despite her wriggling attempts to escape. "You're not a very good cuddling dog, are you?" murmured Resa, crumpling a soft floppy ear in her hand and trying to think about anything but the guilt that broke against her like waves. The little dog just yipped and began to lick her face enthusiastically. Resa made a noise of disgust mixed with a hiccupping giggle and pulled her away. Puppy finally managed to squirm from her grasp and chased a ball of cotton that was blowing along in the wind.

She couldn't leave Nathan to look for Shilo on his own like that. What if he didn't remember where his house was yet? What if he found out she was dead? What if GeneCo caught him? He needed her, even if he hated everything about her right now. But the roaring of her motorcycle as it ripped away had told her that she was stuck between a rock and a brick wall.

They hadn't even been in the house a few days. It was starting to look so good for them. Why did her conscience have to be such a bitch?

Well, someone was bound to come looking after the display of smoke. She had to leave, and take their things. She just hoped whoever came looking wouldn't be smart enough to see that the dust and cobwebs were missing.

How would she get back to Crucifixus though? She was off of the main island now, and completely without means of getting back.

Asha. She would help. She knew that she was Resa's only friend.

Resa ran inside, Puppy on her heels, and began to dig the communicator out of her bag and click Asha's code. The rising beep notified her that the call went through.

"Asha?" she murmured into it, realizing too late that the Gentern could be earshot of Luigi Largo. She held her breath, hoping to any higher power out there that maybe it was her day off. There was no answer. She tried again, but all that greeted her was a crackle. With a shout of frustration, Resa threw the wristcomm across the room and collapsed on her heels.

Well. That was it. Nathan was on his own. It wasn't like she had anyone else who'd even consider helping her, and she couldn't call a GeneCab. She'd have to walk for hours to get to any form of civilization.

Maybe she could steal a car from one of the few surrounding houses…

_That's right, do _more_ criminal things. That'll _really_ help out your situation, idiot._

But it seemed like the only option.

Then suddenly the wristcomm crackled into life across the room, and she scrambled to retrieve it. Asha's floating blue hologram was complete with the long white hair. She'd never beeped her before, Resa realized.

"_Are you stupid? Are you trying to get me killed?_" shouted the voice, uncharacteristically harsh and frustrated.

"I'm sorry!" Resa said quickly, more guilt hitting her.

"_You're lucky I'd just left their office! I'm lucky!_"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, wincing.

There was a long stretch of silence.

"_I only have a minute_," Asha said, calmer. "_What do you want_?"

_Oh, please don't kill me,_ begged Resa in her mind. "I … I need a ride. Really badly. You're my last option. Would you-?"

"_I can't. Resa, I'm sorry. I'm dead if I – oh, hold on._"

The comm went dead in her hand, and she bit her lip. She'd known it was a long shot. Resa was wondering if she had the capacity to hotwire another motorcycle she'd seen parked on the way out, if she could only walk to it, when the hologram appeared again.

Asha sighed. "_Where can I pick you up?_"

xxx

When the food slot screeched open again for her empty plate, Shilo barely lifted her head. She didn't feel like shouting anymore. The door remained open for a while as whoever was outside waited for the dish. There came a metallic knock on the door, but she refused to move.

"Hey!" called a female voice. "I need your plate. You can keep the plastic fork if you really want it."

"Go away," replied Shilo. The tiny, elongated door didn't close. There came a sigh.

"Look, I hate that they're keeping you here too, but I'm just here for the plate, okay? Don't make my job any harder."

"What's your name?" Shilo asked suddenly, voice seeming loud and foreign as it bounced off the walls. There was a long pause.

"Molly. Molly Xuan."

Shilo pulled herself to the door, and lifted the plate up. A hand took it from her, but the door still didn't close.

"Do you want the plastic fork after all?" Shilo asked slowly. There was no reply.

Then a book fell through the opening, a thick book. She picked it up hesitantly.

"I'm sorry they're doing this to you," came the soft voice again.

"Does GeneCo keep prisoners often?" inquired Shilo bitterly.

"Almost never. There hasn't been anyone in here for, like, two years. Before that, it was at least ten."

Shilo was about to reply, when there was a clatter.

"I have to go. Another gentern's coming down."

The door slammed close again before she could even mutter a 'thank you' for the book. In the dim light Shilo examined the cover. It was hard to see and the title was all but scrubbed out from age and handling, but it looked like a battered copy of something by Neil Gaiman. 'Going Postal', maybe. Shilo was grateful it had been a sympathetic bookworm who'd come to collect her dishes.

She barely had time to stuff the book into a crack in the wall when the huge door opened. Properly, not just the slot. Shilo blinked and squinted, not used to the brightness that flooded in.

"Shilo Wallace?" asked a light, fluffy voice. She managed an affirming nod, and then was pulled to her feet. Was she being rescued?

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Don't thank me yet," the woman told her softly. Her blonde hair flooded around her. Shilo had never seen anything like it. Yet, the woman wasn't pretty at first glance. "Cuff her please, Archie. I have to take you up to see Luigi Largo."

Shilo's eyes opened wide in horror as the accompanying GENforcer snapped cold metal around her fists.

"Please don't do this," Shilo begged.

"Sorry, love. I can't stop him." The woman gave her a small, reassuring smile as she took one arm in her chilly fingers. "He won't hurt you, though. They obviously need you for something."

Shilo didn't even feel herself walking as the woman led her along.

xxx

People were everywhere. The club was packed, and the music was pounding so loudly it gave Trish a headache. Leah was always two steps behind her, clinging tighter than her shadow, huge hazel eyes taking it all in.

"Where do you think he is?" her half-sister nearly had to shout to be heard over the noise.

"I don't know, but he's probably bleeding all over the place." Trish didn't even bother disguising the worry in her voice. She had been so concerned with Zaire missing that she hadn't bothered to check on Rat. He was there one minute and gone the next. Her first thought was that he'd gone to Heron's to beg for more painkillers, but he never would have made it there without tearing out all his stitches.

That was when she remembered. There was a party down the street, and everyone knew good dirty street riots were nothing without a bit of zydrate being passed around.

Thus, Trish and Leah were elbowing their way through leather-clad, sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke, trying to catch a glimpse of their friend. When they approached the bar, Trish slowed. Leah almost ran into her.

"Is that Graverobber?" She squinted through the smoke. A very tall, long-haired man was leaning casually on the counter with his back to her. He was spinning a vial of zydrate between his fingers. "Graves?" She approached, coughing because of the smoke. He was talking to someone and laughing. "Graves, thank God, we need you to help-" She grabbed his shoulder and he spun around. Trish took a step back and wished she could turn and run.

The man smiled, clearly not the zydrate dealer she was looking for. He had ghostly pale skin, a protruding chin, and thin, squinty eyes. "Trish!" He set the zydrate on the counter and spread both arms as if to hug her. "It's been a long time! Finally come to see me again?"

Trish backed away, which wasn't easy with people pushing at her from all sides. The smoke was getting heavier and burning her eyes.

The man cocked his head curiously. "I like your hair. It's purple now. Didn't it used to be green?"

Just then, Rat appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey, Trish, I thought you didn't like parties." He was wheezing, and even with the poor lighting she could tell he looked ill.

The man took a step back, his top lip pulling back against his teeth in disgust. "What's the matter with that guy? Is he contagious?"

Trish yanked Rat away and he yelped. "Yes!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "He's contagious and he's about to hurl!"

People around them shrank away almost immediately, and suddenly they had room to move. "Come on!" She grabbed Rat's arm and pulled him through the crowd. "Move out of the way unless you want vomit on you!" she warned again. They managed to clear a path to the door, and Trish stumbled out, Rat right behind her. He collapsed on the pavement, all color drained from his face.

"Are you okay?" She crouched down, pulling his shirt up. "Did you tear your stitches?" Rat didn't answer. From what she could see his stitches were still intact, and the gruesome crescent-shaped scab handn't broken. "You are one lucky son of a bitch," Trish mumbled, collapsing beside him. Rat started to giggle, and she stared at him incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

He grinned boastfully and held up a vial of zydrate- the same bottle the man had set on the counter a minute ago. "You make a pretty good distraction, you know. I didn't expect you to actually know the guy, though." He paused for a minute, grimacing. "You got a gun, by any chance?"

Trish sputtered. "You exploited me to get your damn painkillers? What the fuck is the matter with you? He's gonna kill us!" She paused. "Although, that was a pretty smart idea."

Rat blinked at her. "You totally knew the guy. He won't kill us."

"Well, maybe I am overreacting a bit." She paused, inhaling the night air, thankful for the absence of smoke. Two people were making out down the street, and she tried to ignore them. "But still, you can't get hooked on Z, Rat. That stuff will destroy you."

A smile fell from her friend's face and he looked seriously at her. "Trust me, I know what Zydrate can do. I've seen the junkies. I've never needed to use zydrate before. However, I've never had my wrist and stomach torn open and stitched back up with nothing but Tylonol to keep the pain away. I do have a high threshold but this is fuckin' agony." He shoved his injured wrist at her. "Pull it open."

"What?"

"I don't have a gun and I am not going back in there. Pull the wound open and I'll pour zydrate in. Maybe it'll numb it."

This time she really did look at him like he was crazy. "There has to be another way, Rat. I doubt that-"

"Where's Leah?" he interrupted suddenly.

Trish's stomach sank like a stone. "Oh, my God, she must still be in-"

"Got it." The blonde-haired thief stepped up to them, handing a complicated-looking Zydrate gun to Rat. He gratefully took it.

"What were you doing?" Trish exclaimed, "And how did you know to grab the gun?"

Leah shrugged. "I saw him swipe the Zydrate. I kinda already knew he would. I also knew he wouldn't think far enough to take that as well."

Trish put her face in her hands. "When are you two ever going to learn to grow up? I am not going to be a part of this."

"You know we're all thieves. This is what we do to survive. Why is this such a problem for you sometimes?" Leah brushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear. "Or is it more than that?" She squatted down next to her half-sister. "Who was that guy?"

Trish squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Well he certainly seemed to know who you were."

She opened one eye and peeked at Leah. "He's just a regret, okay? When I was new on the streets he had connections and a place the GENforcers didn't know about. That's all."

They sunk into silence, only interrupted by a little _zap_. Trish glanced over at Rat, who was now riding the waves of the neon blue painkiller. He had his eyes half-shut and a smile on his face.

"Come on," she said wearily. "We should take him back before he can't walk anymore."

xxx

Graverobber smelled like cabbage. The stench was steadily growing stronger as the two of them crouched against the wall until Zaire realized where it was coming from.

"Don't you ever take a bath?" she hissed, bringing her sleeve up to cover her nose.

"I'll have you know that you don't exactly smell that fantastic either," he retorted after another swig from the bottle. "Besides, I've been through enough shit lately that it's warranted."

Zaire shifted uncomfortably, her breath making tiny clouds in the night air. The metal apparatus that was her leg had begun to rust from being in the damp weather so long and it was getting harder and harder to bend the knee joint. The leg was also caked with mud, which didn't help mobility much, but made the prosthetic less appealing to possible thieves.

Graverobber sat in the dark, silently nursing his drink.

"Did you honestly think they'd just let us walk in?" Zaire said for the millionth time, if only to break the silence. "We look like street urchins." She paused as she caught another whiff of her partner's stink. "And we smell like it too."

Graverobber turned to her, exasperated. "Do you have a better idea?"

Zaire shrugged, falling silent again. The sounds of the city drifted by them; cars honking, doors slamming, someone shouting a few blocks down. For such an enormous city, sometimes Crusafixus felt terribly empty. For such a busy street rat, sometimes Zaire felt terribly alone. That feeling engulfed her now for a brief moment, and she lowered her head, trying to shut it out again. She missed her home. She missed going to bed every night with clean sheets. She missed waking up in the morning to the smell of breakfast. But most of all, she missed being part of her family. She being tucked in to her mother's soft, low voice, and she missed Bo following her around when she got home from school, as if he was her shadow, and she missed the way her father would come home from work, smelling of sawdust and sweat.

Her father. That was it!

Zaire turned to Graverobber, bursting with excitement. "My dad was an apprentice carpenter when they built Geneco!" She squeaked.

He stared at her as if she was nuts, before it dawned on him.

"Exactly," Zaire said, not giving him a chance to speak. She was so thrilled to actually help in this important rescue mission that her words came out rushed and high-pitched. "My father came to the GeneCo site for his practicum when he was a carpentry student and worked on the building as an apprentice. He'd know all about the place. He could tell us how to get in!"

"Are you kidding me?" Graverobber asked, dumbfounded voice thick with the alcohol. "We've been sitting here for an hour and you decide to bring it up now?"

"Well…!" exclaimed Zaire indignantly, but she didn't continue with her defense. Graverobber sighed.

"Okay, you know what? You go get directions or whatever you can. I'm running low on juice, and I know I left some at Shilo's." He shook the bottle of clear liquid confidence at her in demonstration, what little contents left sloshing around the bottom.

"You do _not_ need any more of that," Zaire pointed out adamantly. Graverobber looked at her like a fly that he was too drunk and pill-popped to squash, and besides he'd made friends with it already.

"Who are you, sparrow, my _father_?" he asked slowly, putting connotations of horror behind the title. Zaire raised an eyebrow, and then suddenly a brilliant epiphany struck her features.

"Graverobber!" she hissed, jumping up. "That's it!"

"Oh no," he managed darkly. "What?"

"See, you're not completely useless!" she said excitedly, ignoring his affronted protest. "You said your girlfriend… um, Shilo, right? You said her dad's a surGEN! D'you think he still has – had–"

"Has," corrected Graves. "And not my girlfriend."

"Has, then – d'you think he still has some uniforms lying around? Ones that we could use to sneak inside, in case we're seen?"

Graverobber just stared at her like she was an alien, his brain trying to work out what she was saying through its incapacitation. Zaire stared straight back, eyebrows raised in an expectant fashion, but she wasn't getting the response she'd hoped for. Her face swam in his vision. Just the way he liked it when things weren't going his way.

He began to raise the bottle to his lips again slowly.

"Graves!" she barked, pulling the vodka away and throwing it to the side. The bottle shattered against the cement.

"Hey-!"

"Do you…" she said slowly and clearly, and he heard her teeth grinding. "…think that … there are …"

"Oh!" he said loudly, almost falling off his dumpster as what she'd said finally clicked in his head. "Yeah, there are! I saw one! Kid, I could kiss you!"

"Don't let the police hear you say that," she warned with a little smile. Graverobber tried to smile back but the muscles in his face weren't working properly and it ended up a squint. "Okay," Zaire continued. "You go to the house and find the uniforms. I'll go home and try to find what we need, and I'll meet you there. I won't be twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Graverobber saluted. "I knew there was a reason I brought you, sparrow."

Zaire set her mouth. "What's the address?"

He told it to her, and she nodded, and then he spun on his heel and began a brisk walk in what his muddled brain hoped was the right direction.


	31. Chapter 31

"Thank you," Resa said for the fiftieth time as they pulled through the body-littered bridge. Asha smiled over.

"Say that one more time," she threatened sweetly, "and you can walk the rest of the way."

Resa nodded quickly and looked out the window. "So how's my situation with GeneCo?" she asked hesitantly.

"Right! The staff's throwing you a birthday party. They say they miss you, and you should stop by for cake and presents!"

"Really, Asha."

"Oh, you mean the way you lied to the Largos and harbored a national fugitive who we all thought was long gone? And you didn't even mention it to your best friend, who you were also using – at great risk to herself, I might add – to get information and change records right under her boss's nose. Or the way you managed to slaughter at least five GENforcers, most of whom we both knew personally! Or the way you disappeared and then called me at work and almost got me killed? Which one, Resa, am I even a little close?"

Resa decided not to talk anymore.

The drive back was longer than she remembered, and the little car was stuffy with awkward silence. Resa occupied her hands by stroking Puppy to calm her down. Her little tongue flapped from her mouth as she eagerly eyed the closed window, and occasionally yipped and wriggled.

"I'm sorry again, Asha," she said after a while. "I didn't want to put you in any danger."

"Whatever. Just tell me where this murderer you've lost is so I can drop you off."

"I-I don't know. He might have gone to my house. I'm not sure if he knows where anything else is."

She wanted to tell Asha about how sweet Nathan was, really, even if he was a bit of a jerk and had some kind of disorder, how she was fairly sure she'd fallen in love with him and how he'd kissed her, and how she couldn't have done anything other than what she had. How she wished to all hell that she hadn't lied to him in the first place and started this whole mess. But she couldn't make the words come out. She was too worried.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important?" Resa mumbled. "I really am grateful."

"No, it's fine. The Largos are 'hosting someone' as he puts it, some girl named Shilo. Luigi just wanted me to bring her up to him and then I was free to go."

"Shilo?"

Resa was aware of a faint buzzing in her eyes that grew louder. Shilo. GeneCo had Nathan's daughter. GeneCo had her. And Nathan didn't know. How could he? She'd only found out because of Asha.

She knew the building. Knew where the GENforcers patrolled. She could break Shilo out. Nathan would forgive her then, and they could go on to be all happy-family. She wouldn't have to lie anymore, and Repo would have no reason to resurface.

"What're you thinking, Resa?" asked Asha slowly. Resa turned to her.

"I think I need to go to GeneCo," she told her, still considering her odds.

"What!" Asha shouted, the wheel swerving beneath her long fingers. "Are you flipping insane, Reese? After all I've been through to be sneaky and such and help you, you're going to head right into the hive?"

"I think I have to." Resa took a deep breath. "But it means I need another favor."

Asha glared at the road.

"Fine," she said after a while. "But if you make it out of this alive I may still kill you myself."

xxx

It was a half hour before they got back, since Rat passed out in the middle of a road and with cars honking impatiently Trish and Leah had to drag him off the pavement, and the rest of the way home.

Once they finally arrived, Trish collapsed in the alleyway, too tired to even start the bin fire. Leah fell asleep against a wall soon after, and Rat was quiet for the first time in days as his body lay limply a few feet away where they dumped him.

"Whoa, don't start the party without me."

Trish jumped, startled, before she registered who the deep voice belonged to.

"Jack! Where have you been?"

He moved smoothly to dump a pile of dry wood in the bin before squatting down next to her and gently grasping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You," He said slowly, "Need to stop worrying so much."

Trish frowned. "But…"

Jack got up, struck a match, and tossed it into the bin." No buts." He glanced at the other two thieves. "Rat and Leah are smart. They can take care of themselves. They're adults, for God's sake."

"Sure doesn't feel like it sometimes." Trish said, glancing over at the passed out Russian. "Rat wouldn't have been able to manage the last few days if I didn't look out for him."

Jack held his calloused hands out over the fire. Trish studied him as the firelight played across his features. He was one of the oldest friends they had, even older than Heron. He had silver stubble on his chin and long hair that he usually stuffed under a hat carelessly, but sharp blue eyes and an even sharper wit made it clear he was not to be overlooked. Jack had half his tongue missing for reasons unknown to her, and although most of his consonants sounded thicker and rounder than usual, she could still understand almost all of what he was saying by now. He glanced down at her. "Rat knows that and he's probably grateful for it." He paused. "Although you've got to admit he's doing pretty well for someone who just lost his best friend."

Trish nodded, although her head felt too heavy for her shoulders. With the crackling of the fire in the background, it was so difficult to stay awake. "Yeah, you've got to give him that. Although I think we all deal with grief differently. I think he just needs time to sort it out in his own head." From the delirious ramblings of their friend when he first returned they had learned of Drench's death, and he would not give them any other details besides the fact that they were making a housebreak and it got messy. Trish didn't know Drench that well, but she did feel for Rat. The two had been inseparable.

Jack settled down beside her. He smelled like cigarette smoke. Trish suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her, but she didn't know what for.

"Let me tell you a story," came Jack's slow drawl. "I used to be pretty successful. I was in the proprietor of my own business chain."

"Oh really?" Trish turned to him, curious.

"Yeah. I owned almost a dozen private clinics specializing in laser treatments and plastic surgery."

"I bet GeneCo wasn't very happy about that." Trish said almost immediately.  
Jack shrugged. "I didn't take their threats seriously at first. They were just a business, even newer than I was. What were they going to do?"

Trish stared ahead, feeling a sudden dread as she realized where the story was going.

"I was managing pretty well, and looking to open some more clinics internationally. That was when GeneCo started spreading rumors about my business. They said that the surgeons working in my clinics didn't sanitize their equipment. They said I overcharged outrageous amounts in hidden fees. They even said that my clinics weren't licensed."

"Rotti Largo never did take kindly to competition." Trish commented.

"Yeah. I kind of learned that the hard way." He motioned to his mouth.

Trish's eyes grew wide. "They were the ones who did that to you?"

Jack nodded grimly. "Since they were spreading rumors about me, I foolishly decided to spread some rumors about them. Needless to say Rotti did not approve. He hired one of his hit men-"

"You mean repo men?"

Jack waved a hand at her. "Call it what you wish, but the bastard tried to cut my whole tongue out. The only thing that saved me was a car accident right outside the alleyway. It distracted him for just a split second and his hand slipped. I was able to get away with just a chunk missing. I knew that GeneCo's assassins never left a job half-finished, so I decided that maybe I didn't want to be in the medical business after all. I tried other entrepreneurship ventures, but GeneCo had ruined my reputation along with the reputations of all my employees." Jack looked around. "Things went pretty downhill after that."

Trish swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jack shrugged. "I got to meet some very incredible people after that, like all of you." He smiled. He was missing a tooth, but Trish couldn't help but smile back. "We're kind of … all here, you know? You're the conscience of our group," he said, lighting up. "That little voice in the back of our heads that always knows what's right. You have the subtle confidence of a natural leader too. You may not believe you do, but the others look up to you."

He glanced over at the sleeping form of Rat. "He's smarter than you give him credit for. And he has courage. His best friend was murdered and he's still coping. And Leah… she's sweet, but logical. She's the common sense. Zaire … well, Zaire'll never let us get too full of ourselves."

Trish grinned. "Sounds like we make quite a team."

Jack agreed. "Anyway, my point is, you're not alone. You don't have to feel like you have to look out for all of us. Although we appreciate it, you need to look out for yourself too."

Trish rested her chin on her knees. "Thanks for making me feel better." And she did feel better. That aching dread in her heart that came from running into her ex had evaporated, and she gained confidence. If the man ever came back, she wouldn't have to face him alone.

xxx

"God, that's a difference," murmured Resa, turning and admiring herself in the mirror. "I'll never fit in, though. I don't have a gentern's body."

"You'll be fine," Asha told her. "The outfit's frumpy enough that it hides fat around the tummy."

Resa glared at her. "Thanks, Ash." She tugged at the bottom of the short, short, short, short white dress, trying to wish it longer. Her depressingly straight hair that Asha had tugged at with an iron for an hour still bushed up around her face a bit, but the change was miraculous. She barely recognized herself under the red mask, sans glasses and added tons of make-up, and doubted anyone at GeneCo would either.

"Well," said Asha with a forced smile, holding up a brass key and her sister's GeneID. "Ready to deliver dinner to the prisoner, Tara George?"

"I suppose," Resa nodded, clenching her teeth against the nerves. She was glad the latex gloves hid how much her hands sweat.

"And what about…?" Asha gestured to the baby dog curled up on the bed.

"Puppy? She can stay here, she'll be fine on her own for a bit." _I hope,_ added Resa silently. "If something happens to me –"

Asha made a protesting noise. Resa gave her a look.

"If something happens to me, make sure she gets to Nathan, though. Okay?"

"The murderer?"

"Asha…"

"Okay, okay. I'll find the murderer and let him take care of this adorable little flop." With the last words, the blonde dropped on the bed and started to ruffle the sleeping dog. Puppy nipped at her fingers, instantly ready to play. Resa smiled at the image.

"There must be something in his files about an address, or he could be at my house eventually… Tell him-" Resa stopped. She didn't know what she'd say to him. He was probably still furious at her. Maybe he didn't even love her. She still felt so stupid thinking about the way she'd confessed it, and even stupider about how quickly she'd done it, and even stupider than that about how he'd brushed it off like it was nothing. She'd probably seemed desperate. She had been, though. Maybe he hadn't believed her. She wouldn't have believed herself.

"Tell him what?" Asha asked finally, and Resa could tell she'd noticed the shift in mood and was biting her tongue to hold back her own suggestions. She was grateful.

"I don't know." She idly picked up her little drawstring purse and started putting her things in it. A grim smile suddenly crossed her features and her hands slowed to finger a chalky carving wrapped in tissue. She hadn't known Nathan packed it.

"Tell him I had the soap cat with me when I died."

Asha sat up quickly, leaving Puppy with a confused, disappointed look. "You're not going to die!" she objected immediately.

"I might, Asha. You know better than I do that GeneCo doesn't handle betrayal well. If I do, tell him that."

There was a moment of silence as the women stared at each other. The willowy one nodded in a rare moment of solemnity.

"This is kind of noble, what you're doing, Reese," she commented. Resa snorted, breaking the tension.

"This is possibly the most cowardly thing I've ever done," she disagreed.

Before Asha could ask, something chimed in the flat and they both spun to look. "It's five," noted Resa when she realized it was the grandfather clock.

"I have to be there in twenty minutes for my second shift. We should go."

She nodded, and sat on the bed next to Puppy. When Asha got up to leave the room the dog rolled onto her back, lying across Resa's bare lap with tongue lolling out between her floppy jowls. Resa smiled and picked up the dog under her front legs, burying her cheeks against the soft fur.

"I'll be back soon, okay, Puppy? And if I'm not … Nate and Asha will take good care of you. Okay? Don't eat too many shoes. I don't think Asha would like it if you started vomiting up leather all over her apartment. We're leaving food and water, and some nice rib bones she had." She pressed a kiss to the warm head and put the dog back on the bedcovers, where she promptly started to fight her own tail. "You'll be okay," Resa murmured, even though the canine wasn't paying her soft voice a scrap of attention. "Give Nathan a big sloppy kiss for me. And maybe when I get back you'll have a new teenager to trick into falling in love with you, too."

"Resa!"

"Coming!" She gave Puppy one last pat on the head and left to discover her fate. She could only hope it would be quick and painless.

xxx

"Why are we stopping here?" Nathan said aloud as the motorcycle slowed.

**Don't you think you should know? You're the one driving.** The Repo thing said sarcastically.

He scowled and clumsily got off the machine, looking around.

They were stopped in front of a house. Well, it was more of a mansion, really. A dark, shingled, towering mansion with a pointed roof and balcony. Prison-like iron bars fenced in stubby grass and a cobblestone pathway. In the dark, the house looked intimidating, but for some reason Nathan was drawn to it. It reminded him of something… it reminded him of home.

_Is this our house?_ He wondered, already knowing the answer.

The Repo thing chuckled.

_What?_

**For the first time you said "our" instead of "my". You're finally getting used to me.**

_Oh, stuff it, will you? I was talking about … my daughter and I_, he retorted, hoping he sounded more convinced than he actually was. The word "daughter" still felt alien to him, however, even now, even thinking it.

The iron gate swung open at his touch without protest. Nathan slowly walked up the pathway, strangely pleased at the hollow clomp his boots made as he stepped onto the porch. His brow crinkled as he realized the door was open. No, kicked in. It was dark inside, but he saw shards of glass scattered in the entrance that glinted at him with the moonlight.

"Shilo?" he called hesitantly, but he had a feeling he wouldn't find her here.

As soon as he stepped inside and flipped the light switch that his hand found automatically, he sucked in a breath. Everything was destroyed. The curtains had been ripped down. The furniture was toppled. Things had been swept off the tables and fireplace mantel and smashed on the worn and scratched hardwood floor. His eyes followed the muddy tracks of at least half a dozen boots from the door to the staircase, and then he was racing across the room and leaping up the steps four at a time with his heart pounding in his throat and a dreadful thought in the back of his mind that he couldn't bear to believe.

When he reached her bedroom, his stomach dropped like a stone. It was all so familiar that he could picture it in his mind. The flickering pictures on the walls. The beautiful Victorian piano. The huge, downy bed that seemed to swallow her whole so that there was nothing but her little bald head peering out. He slowly walked into the room, breathing the lingering scent of baby powder. She had used it on her scalp so that the wig wouldn't rub too much. He knew all of this, and yet that was where the memories stopped. He blinked, trying to clear the confusion and déjà-vu from his mind.

It was all demolished. Bottles were smashed on the ground, the pictures were ripped and dangling from their wall sockets, the light was out, the hypo-allergenic plastic sheets that surrounded the bed were torn. He caught sight of something on the floor, and he approached it, kneeling down to flip it over. It was a large, rectangular glass case framed with polished wood. It reminded him of the one he saw only a few days ago in the junkyard. It was prettier though, and the glass had been smashed. A few butterflies and one blue-backed beetle lay motionless on the carpet nearby, and Nathan felt a pang of pity for them.

**Goddamn it, Nate. Now you're feeling bad for insects. You really are pitiful. **

His thoughts were shattered by the growling insult as his other half made itself known again. Nathan chose to ignore it and stood, making for the door.

**What's the plan?** Repo pressed.

_I don't know. What can I do? Whoever came in here is long gone now, and they took my girl. I don't know who they are and I don't know how to get her back._ Nathan fought the sudden urge to kick the wall. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

On his way out he glanced at one picture that was still intact on the dresser. It was a photo of Shilo smiling in her nightgown.

**Damn.** The Repo thing let out a whistle. **I'm surprised we could ever forget something like that. **

_Did I just make a pass at my daughter?_ Nathan considered slapping himself.

**Call it what you like, but you've kept that poor girl locked away for seventeen years… I'm sure she needs a good-**

"You finish that sentence and I will kill you," Nathan said aloud, failing to realize the irony of the statement.

They were interrupted with the sound of a creak downstairs. It was quiet enough, but Nathan's ears picked it up instantly. _Someone's here._ He started to the door again, walking as softly as he could.

**Wait - grab something to use as a weapon,** Repo suggested.

Nathan picked up the closest thing he could reach - Shilo's bug case.


	32. Chapter 32

The mansion was a mess. Graverobber had been too rushed before to really take in the kicked in door, the smashed window and destroyed paintings and shards of glass and clay everywhere. The birdcage was knocked over and dented in, and even the fireplace was out of place. He hadn't even known it was possible for a fireplace to be out of place.

He stumbled from the mausoleum entrance through the chaos, holding his pounding head and trying to get his bearings. God damn, GeneCo must've wanted Shilo badly for all this. She must've put up a hell of a fight to ruin the house that much, though. Graverobber felt a swell of pride, which he soon realized was just a belch. But he was still proud. He was too out of it to be very rushed about Shi, though. If they took her alive, they'd keep her alive, and she'd be there when they arrived, ready to be rescued in slow motion. He imagined the rising strings in the background and smiled dreamily.

Then something made of smooth polished wood came out of nowhere and sunk into his face, hard. Slow motion, he thought for some reason. Even floating among the cloud of painkillers, he felt his nose crush like a pop can and felt the blood spatter like slow motion. Through tunnel vision he saw something heavy draw back, and barely took in the figure holding it, ready to strike again, but the darkness closed in before he felt himself hit the ground.

xxx

**Well, that was easy**. Nathan stood over the body, still holding the bug case above his head. He slowly lowered it and couldn't help but agree. The man had crumpled to the floor after just one blow, his head colliding with the bug case in a loud crack.

_Do you think he's dead?_ Nathan felt no guilt yet, only the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from a moment ago. He had managed to sneak downstairs when the intruder's back was turned, if only by sheer luck. The man even had a gun, the silver handle of it glinting from the stranger's pocket. He squatted down to remove it now, and then, hesitantly, check for a pulse. It was faint, but still there. The man's nose had been broken, and blood was beginning to pool on the hardwood floor. _We ought to tie him up. _

**Why? So that he can untie himself and go free? If this is one of those bastards that stole your daughter he was probably returning to see if we were here now so he could finish the job. **

_Yeah, well do you have a better idea? _

Repo filled Nathan, pulling his lips back against his teeth in a devilish grin.

xxx

Zaire hurried through the streets once again, staying in the shadows by habit. Graverobber had left a few moments ago, but he had drawn a map for her so she could find his girlfriend's house. Once again she went over the plan in her mind, shaking her head.

"Why are you doing this, girl?" she mumbled to herself. "It's dangerous. Breaking into GeneCo can get you killed."

But even with the threat of danger, she continued on. The opportunity for adventure was too exciting to be ignored, and, as it occurred to her while she approached her house, she might just be a little crazy.

The house looked different in the dark. Quiet, but almost menacing. She could have sworn she saw something skirt across the shadowy lawn, but it was gone in a split second. Probably just her imagination.

Zaire shook her head to clear her thoughts and then climbed over the picket fence, landing softly on the other side.

She crossed the perfectly manicured yard, crushing the grass underfoot with satisfaction.

Her parents' lives were too perfect. They were happily married in a quaint little home with a cute little white picket fence and, up to a few moments ago, two perfectly obedient children.

Zaire hated it. She hated it all.

She wondered what the two of them were telling their friends and neighbors. Her mother and father couldn't admit that they disowned one child and lost the other, so she concluded that they were probably making up a lavish story about them staying with an exotic relative.

She crept around to the back of the house and slipped inside through the window. Caution was necessary. As opposed to the middle of the day, both her parents were home now. Granted, they would be sleeping, but her father's office was right across from their bedroom. She tried to walk softly, grateful for the carpet which muffled her mechanical leg.

The office was pitch-black. She fumbled for the light switch and then paused. That would be too obvious. Zaire waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, growing more and more impatient. What if Graverobber got lost? What if he needed help? What if he grew tired of waiting and decided to charge into GeneCo again, drunk and just asking to be hurt- or worse?

Zaire sighed. She couldn't think of these things now. She had work to do. Her eyes had adjusted enough so that she could make out the looming shapes of furniture. She had been in this office many times before, and breathing the familiar scent of pinewood and stationary made her nostalgic. She headed over to the desk, where she used to play around as a toddler. Her father would lift her up with his huge, calloused hands and place her on his lap. Then he'd point out what he was working on and start to explain all about foundation reinforcement and building security, and

Zaire loved it. She was too young to understand what all the words meant, but she loved hearing her father's deep voice and smelling his cologne and feeling close to him.

She had to choke back a sob after the memory faded. For the millionth time, she wondered if it was worth it. Her parents loved her-or at least she thought they did. Was it really worth giving it all up for a bed of cement and the gourmet of trash cans and gas stations? But she knew in her heart that she couldn't come back- she couldn't forgive them for what they did to Bo.

The desk had no blueprints. Zaire shut the drawers and looked around, bewildered. Where else would they be?

That was when her gaze fell across the filing cabinet. Of course!

Zaire rushed over to it, hesitating as she noticed the keyhole on the outside.

_Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, please be unlocked..._ She prayed, pulling on it.

It was locked.

She could have let a string of curses out at that moment, but they all died on her lips when the light turned on.

Zaire jumped, spinning around and knocking over a chair in the process.

He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light, but she recognized him as easily as if they'd only seen each other yesterday.

"My God." Her father stepped into the room. "Zaire?"

Her gaze darted around, but there was no other way out except the door her father was blocking. He stared at her with disbelief, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

Zaire paused, realizing what he was seeing. A thin, dirty street urchin with hungry, wild eyes and a complete mess of tangled and beaded hair. Her body was tensed to run, and, after almost three months on the streets, she probably looked more like an animal than his daughter.

"Just let me go." Zaire's voice was unsteady and pitched. "Just ... I need the blueprints and I'll never bother you again."

Her father worked his jaw, but no words came out. Finally, "What blueprints? Zaire-" He advanced towards her, and that was when she bolted.

She wasn't fast enough. He grabbed her and she struggled violently. "Let me go!"

Her father raised an arm and she winced, expecting him to hit her. She couldn't have been more surprised when his arms encircled her and held her tight.

"Zaire, honey," he murmured. At the sound of his voice she slowly allowed herself to relax into his embrace, and then she was crying and he was crying and she melted into her father's arms and felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn't realize how much she missed home.

"Baby, your mother and I have been so worried."

"You have?" She pulled away, wiping hot tears from her cheeks. "I thought you just decided to pretend I never existed, like you did to Bo."

Her father sighed. "I'm so sorry we had to lie to you, honey, but it was for your own good." He looked her up and down. "We never thought you'd do something that drastic."

Zaire shrugged. "I had no choice. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't live like you and pretend nothing ever happened, pretend my own brother never _existed_." She choked back a sob, looking him in the eyes. "Why did you do it, Dad? Why did you lie?"

Her father paused, looking seriously at her. At long last he spoke. "I suppose we had better tell you the truth," he said.

xxx

Zaire shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling out-of-place at the dinner table. Her mother sat across from her, still in her nightgown, dabbing her eyes with a tissue and reaching out to squeeze Zaire's hand every once and awhile as if to make sure she was real. Zaire couldn't look her mother in the eyes or else she knew she would start crying again too.

Her father sat to her right, the blueprints for GeneCo in his hands. He promised her that she would get them if she heard her parents out, but it was getting harder and harder to wait. Her mind had run through a million scenarios of what could be going wrong right now, and the one that was featuring at the moment seemed to be Graverobber getting captured by GENforcers at Shilo's house while he waited for her.

Zaire's parents asked what she needed the blueprints for, but she just said that they were for a friend. They didn't press any more after that. Perhaps they were afraid that if they pushed too hard she would vanish into thin air.

Zaire, on the other hand, could hardly believe she was sitting with her parents in the same room again after what seemed like an eternity. It was almost dream-like.

Her father cleared his throat to begin. "We weren't going to tell you any of this until you were older, or not at all, but you've made it clear to use that we really don't have a choice if we want to keep you here... I just hope we're doing the right thing."

Zaire stayed silent.

Her father and mother exchanged glances before he turned back to her. "After your... accident, you probably don't remember much. You were passed out in the hospital for about a week. What you don't know is that during that time we were trying to save your brother's life. When his head hit the track at the railway station, the impact cracked his skull and caused major bleeding in his brain. The doctors did all they could, but it was clear that Bo wouldn't make it without a transplant."

Zaire's mother let out a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"So... I did all this for nothing," Zaire said flatly. "He still got hurt."

Her mom reached out and squeezed her hand again. "Don't say that. You saved his life. If Bo was hit by that train he would've been killed instantly."

Zaire looked up at her, and her mother's face shone through the tears. "Sweetie," she said, "You're the bravest person I know."

That was when the tears began to flood. Zaire started sobbing and couldn't stop. She buried her face in her hands and cried harder than she'd ever cried before, and she was vaguely aware of arms wrapping around her and someone saying soothing words, but she was lost in such overwhelming state she could hardly breathe. When her tears finally dried, her father continued sympathetically.

"I know it's hard, Zaire. But you should know. We looked everywhere. We couldn't go to GeneCo; we knew what they did if people couldn't afford their organs. We heard of a chain of clinics that still did organ transplants, the last in Crucifixus, but GeneCo had already run them out of business. We had no choice. The more time we searched, the less time Bo had."

Zaire's mother sniffed. "We didn't want those murdering bastards touching our little boy." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We heard ... stories ... about repo men. And we knew how much brain transplants were. It would be tough to afford it, but Jim was working with the stock market and we had invested enough that we could possibly scrape by."

"We had to take the risk," her father continued. "So they performed a frontal lobe transplant on him. Bo recovered quickly, and after just a few weeks he was awake and talking again, thank God. As for GeneCo, the deadline was nearing. I tried to sell all my stocks, but the market suffered a blow just the day before and the price fluctuated. I could only get about half of what I expected, which wasn't nearly enough. We tried taking out a loan at the bank, but they had us on record and our credit rating is not good. They wouldn't even let us try. As the 90 days were almost up, we were scrambling. Your mother tried frantically to look for a job or two, but the economy is terrible. I worked as much as I could, but even then we were nowhere close. We sold our car, which covered about a quarter of it."

Zaire did recall her parents selling their vehicle, but they told her it was because of the rising gas prices. She didn't pick up on their panic either, probably because she was still recovering and in a drugged haze, and her parents no doubt tried to hide these events from her.

"Anyway," her dad went on, "We tried to sell the house too, but there wasn't enough time. Then the letters started arriving. They became more and more threatening as the days wore on. Soon there were phone calls, and we had to unplug our phone because they were calling so much. We knew we were playing with fire as the deadline barreled down on us. Soon we were one day late. Then two days late. We told Bo to stay inside at all times. One night he had a bad dream, so he crept into bed with us. The next morning..."

Zaire's dad stopped as his voice broke. He struggled to regain composure. "The next morning ... we saw his room. It had been broken into. The window was gaping open and the sheets and pillows had been torn off, no doubt in search of our son. The repo man had paid us a visit the night before. From that day on I stayed home and watched Bo every second, and he slept in our bed at night, but we knew it was only a matter of time."

He sighed, covering his face with his hands. Zaire felt a wave of sympathy wash over her for her parents as she realized for the first time how much they had suffered. They looked exhausted. And Zaire had selfishly caused them even more grief by running away.

"We had to do something. The only thing we could think of was to send him across town to an orphanage under a different name, and pray that Repo didn't find him."

"You could have told me this," Zaire interjected. "Why didn't you _say_ anything?"

Her mother gazed at her. "We couldn't put you in danger, too. We knew that even just possessing such information could put your own life at risk." Her mother reached out and stroked her hair. "We only wanted to protect you, sweetie." Zaire sat there, numb, hardly believing what they had told her. "So... you still love Bo?"

"Of course we do!" her mother assured her, "There was never a moment we didn't." She paused. "And we still love you, even though you put us through hell."

"I swear, young lady, you are going to be grounded for the rest of your life," her father cut in, "Do you know how worried we were?"

Zaire smiled. "I'm really sorry. But there's one last thing I have to do."


	33. Chapter 33

"Ow! Fuck!" muttered Graverobber with a vengeance as he was pulled out of unconsciousness. His vision swam and his head pounded, and he felt like he'd been under a steamroller. He tried to bring a hand to his nose, which throbbed and swelled thick with pain, but he couldn't move. He blinked a few times, hard, and when the darkness cleared from the edges of his vision he looked down. Leather straps belted his wrists to the arms of a chair, and he couldn't move his legs or upper body either. Graverobber stiffened, tried to pull himself free, but to no avail. Panic swept him.

"Hello?" he called frantically, voice unusually scratchy. The room was empty, draped with plastic. Shelves and workbenches filled with tools shone with the bright white lights. There weren't any windows. "Is someone there?" They weren't tools, he realized. They were knives and scalpels. And blood stained the tile floor. He struggled harder.

"Oh, hey there," a throaty, gruff voice rang out. "You're awake, I see. Sorry for the rough treatment, I don't usually do this to guests. Although, those guests usually aren't _dirty fucking thieves that break into my house!_"

Graverobber's eyes widened at the change of tone. "Jesus, I'm not a thief! Let me the hell out of this thing!"

"Sorry, pal. It's been too long since I've had free rein like this," the voice said again, and then the owner ducked out of a sideroom. A yell tore from Graverobber's throat as he realized who he was talking to. "Don't worry, I'm just going to have a little fun. At your expense, of course, but you can spare a few organs, right?"

Repo.

No. Shilo's father.

"I know where your –!" he started to shout desperately, but there was a gag pressing against the back of his mouth before he could finish. He choked on the rest of his words.

"Shh," the Repo smiled pseudo-soothingly, stroking Graverobber's dark hair, matted with blood and dirt and whatever other shit he'd gotten into it since it was last washed. "It'll be easier if you don't make a fuss."

But he did anyway, muffled shouts about Shilo drowned in the cloth. Repo shrugged at him, and lowered the leather helmet over the cold grey eyes. They instantly lit up with an eerie blue glow. The drugs hadn't quite worn off, but Graves had enough sense to know that he was in major fucking trouble.

xxx

It felt good to be in control of a body again. Repo almost felt like dancing, but there was work to be done. And as for that pussy Nathan – he wanted no part of this. He'd shut himself down, just like the million times before.

He tied the gag around his victim's mouth before lowering his helmet. He usually loved to hear the screams of his victims as he slowly disemboweled them, but this one was trying to say something. Something Repo didn't want Nate to overhear. If it was important, it could interrupt his fun.

His victim thrashed about now, shouting muffled words through the gag. When Repo spun around to pick out a scalpel from his collection, the shouts turned into screams.

"Oh, hush," he chuckled, holding up the scalpel to examine it in the bright fluorescent lights. "The more you struggle, the worse this is going to be for you."

Satisfied with the instrument, he approached the thief and held it against his neck.

"Hmm … where to start?" He lowered the instrument to the victim's chest and then, with one smooth flick of his wrist, sliced his shirt open. Repo couldn't help but shiver with delight as he lowered the scalpel to the thief's pale, sweaty, heaving stomach.

"It's been too long," he murmured to himself. His victim had switched from hysterical screaming to threats and such vulgar language it would've made Nathan blush- if he were listening.

Repo pulled the instrument away and gazed thoughtfully at the thief. "You know, you're the first meat I've had that I haven't had to slice and dice within a few seconds."

The man shook his head and said something, but it just came out as a muffled plead.

Repo yanked his helmet off and ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. He was going to take this slow. "Nathan, you see…" he felt a stirring in the back of his mind as his other half perked up at the mention, "…keeps me as his trained pooch. I have to sit pretty in the corner until he needs me, and then he sics me on people when he needs protection. And I, the ever loyal and depraved, bloodthirsty hound that I am, can't resist. And then it's over in less time than it takes to blink." He ran a gloved finger along the blunt side of his scalpel. "It's a thankless job, really." But then he lowered his gaze and smiled wickedly. "Although, _you _... you, I can take my time on." The thief tried once again to break free of his restraints, with no success.

"So ... what will it be, then? Are you sick of your spleen? Hate your heart? Loathe your liver?" Repo chuckled gleefully. "I could go on, trust me. I've got a million of 'em." He looked past his victim and his smile faded as an idea dawned on him. "I don't think the chair will do. This is for quick jobs. For precision and a little more fun ... I think we'll use the slab."

He doused a rag in chloroform and then held it to the man's face. He thrashed around, holding his breath, but Repo weaved his fingers through the dreadlocked hair of the man to get a firm grip on the back of his head, and then smashed his nose straight into the chloroform. He passed out instantly, although from the pain or the chemical, Repo wasn't sure.

When his victim awoke for the second time, Repo has his back to him. He was moving the wheelchair into an adjacent room when the now vertically-bound man opened his eyes. Repo could feel himself being watched warily. Instead of turning around, he finished with the chair and approached the sink, stepping out of the man's vision for a moment. "No protests this time? No thinly veiled threats trying unsuccessfully to cover up pure terror?" he called out. Repo turned the tap on to slick back his hair again, splashing some water on his face as well. He was enjoying being back in a body almost too much, and didn't want it to end. He was also enjoying the gagged and blubbering company and almost felt bad having to end their delightful exchanges.

Almost.

He was looking forward to the ending, and, like a child at Christmas, he hurried back to open his present. The man stared at him hatefully from the slab, his arms and legs spread-eagle over the cold metal and bound tightly with leather straps. His jacket, along with his gun, belt, and boots, had been the first to go. Repo disposed of the remains of his torn shirt as well. He didn't want anything to get in the way, so his victim was really only in his pants.

He chose the right spot to make the first slice, "No one ever thanks me when I'm done," he sang with a delighted grin as he pressed the instrument against his victim. "How self-absorbed people can be!"

Repo held his breath in anticipation as the thin knife slowly pushed almost enough to draw blood. Suddenly a bolt of pain burst in his head and he stumbled forward, his scalpel missing the cut by millimeters. The crack sounded after he felt it, and he saw stars as he fought the urge to fall.

Zaire barely had time to move before the monster spun around, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off her feet.  
"Stupid street urchin!" he growled, his face twisted in anguish and rage. Her fingers forgot how to work and she dropped the heavy bucket she had hit him with. It clanged to the floor uselessly.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a squeak. "L-l-let go of Gra-" The man squeezed his fingers around her neck, and Zaire gasped, trying to kick or hit him. One fist managed to land in his stomach out of pure luck and the Repo Man snarled, tossing her like a rag doll across the room. Her back scraped something sharp before her head hit the wooden wall, louder than it hurt.

He ran at her with a roar, landing a fist where her head had been a second ago. Zaire ducked, but she couldn't move out of the way fast enough before he pinned her to the ground. She tried to struggle but his entire weight was on top of her and she could do nothing but cry for help. It was when he pulled out his scalpel that she finally fell silent.

_This is it_, she thought, a sob catching in her throat. She thought of her family. Her parents. Bo. She couldn't leave them like this. She couldn't.

The Repo Man laughed, lifting his weapon in the air to slit her throat.

_Wait!_

He snarled, feeling his hand pause in the air against his will.

**What?** he asked irritably.

_She's just a kid,_ Nathan whispered against the pressure.

**We've repossessed hundreds of kids before.**

_I know…._ The voice in his head paused, and already Repo could feel control slipping from his grasp. He struggled to maintain it, like one half of a couple fighting for the blanket in bed. He grabbed one corner and held on.

_**Nathan….**_ he warned.

_But- _the voice faded, and Repo almost thought he had won when suddenly it came back again, stronger. _We repossessed because we had to. It's not right – this is not right. _

Zaire watched, her breath coming in short gasps, as something moved behind the man's expression. His arm had slowed to a stop, and he bent his head now, glaring at her but not really seeing her. She was still scared out of her wits, but grateful that he hadn't stabbed her yet.

The Repo Man let out a low growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She tried to wiggle out from under him but he tightened his grip on her. "Leave me be!" he shouted suddenly. Zaire thought this was an invitation to go and took it gladly, trying to worm out from under him again. This time he let her, and she scrambled to her feet and shot across the room, before a mumbled word stopped her.

Graverobber. Shit.

She turned at the door, her heart in her throat. The Repo Man that attacked her was still on the floor, not moving. He had his head in his arms and it sounded like he was talking to himself. Graverobber was across the room, still tied to the slab. He was staring at her, his eyes – pleading? No, Graverobber didn't do pleading. Asking frantically because he had no choice, maybe.

She shook her head. _You must be crazy, _she told herself before taking a step back inside.

The Repo Man made no move to stop her.

She took a few more steps as softly as she could, wincing as her metal leg screeched on the cement. He didn't seem to notice, and his mumbling went uninterrupted. If she needed any more indication that her attacker was insane, this was it.

Zaire crept in a wide circle around him, not daring to turn her back until she was a few steps from Graverobber. Then she turned and stumbled toward him, her shaking fingers trying to find the leather straps and undo them. She managed to free one arm, and Graverobber yanked off his gag before trying to help her with the other arm. They both fumbled at it, and Zaire realized how odd it seemed to see Graverobber not completely under control.

Her hands were sweaty and her heart pounded like a drum as she fought to undo the strap. Graverobber's one free hand hovered above hers but he was only getting in the way. "Come on, come on…" She nearly leapt out of her skin when another hand touched hers.

Then the Repo Man was there again suddenly, as if from thin air. She screamed, stumbling back and almost tripping over an organ bin.

He ignored her, unfastening the woven belt with ease. As soon as he did Graverobber boxed him in the side of the head.

"Ow!" The huge man staggered back, rubbing his ear. "I'm sorry, I couldn't – I'm trying to help."

"_Help?_" roared Graverobber with every ounce of strength he had left, the panic and fury and adrenaline rushing through him making him numb to the pain. Zaire hurried to his feet and helped him begin on the straps there. "If I was up to snuff, you'd be on the fucking ground, old man!"

"I suppose I'd deserve that," said the huge man quickly, apologetically, though some kind of monstrosity still stirred in his face.

Graverobber glowered at him. "Yeah, you'd deserve it. Christ on a stick. Thanks, Zaire."

The girl's fingers shook hard, but she was less inept at movement than Graverobber at the moment. She had the straps off in a matter of moments, and Graverobber swung gingerly to his feet. He was still trying to think of words that would express his anger – none came to mind except a hard punch in the face – when Zaire stepped forward, hesitantly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and she sounded like such a child in the question that Graverobber would've normally laughed at her. He opened his mouth to answer, when he realized she was talking to Nathan Wallace.

"I – what?" Wallace said briskly, surprised at the attention.

"I mean, you look better now. Are you?"

Graverobber stared hard at her, but she was enthralled in his almost-murderer.

"Yes, I suppose I am – I want to apologize again. I'm still having trouble controlling – I mean, whatever that - yes. I'm better. I'm really sorry…"

Graverobber laughed weakly, humorlessly. The older man looked chagrined at the reaction, but retained the shame and frustration that etched his features. Graves still wanted to knock his lights out, no matter how much regret he felt. "Honestly, If you weren't Shilo's father–" he muttered.

"Shilo?" Wallace asked quickly. "You know Shilo?"

"Yeah, I've only been looking after her the last two months, keeping her alive and everything," said Graverobber darkly, hating Wallace, not even for almost slicing him up, but for the trauma he'd done his kitten. "She thinks you're dead, you know, and it's torn her to pieces! She'd probably be dead right now if it weren't for me forcing her to eat!" Of course, Graves had enjoyed nearly every second of keeping Shilo alive, but her overprotective, murderous father didn't have to know that.

"Graverobber," murmured Zaire warningly.

"She still loves you, God knows why!" Graverobber continued in a deep growl, waving her off. "And you've been toddling around alive while she's been going through absolute hell? With all due respect, sir, where the _fuck_ have you been?"

"Where is she?" asked Wallace after a pause, ignoring his histrionics and staring up at him under his knitted brow. "Where is my daughter? What have you done to her?"

"Now you'd like to know? _Now _you decide to care about her, when it's too late! I haven't done anything to her! _You've_ lost her, she's gone!"

Suddenly Graverobber was slammed against the wall, throat in the huge man's hand, sputtering and trying to counteract with weak limbs.

"Listen, you imprudent, presumptuous fuck!" Wallace hissed menacingly through his teeth, shaking him a bit with each word. "Where – is – my – daughter? I want to know, and I want to know _now_."

Graverobber tried to choke an answer, eyes bulging and fingers scrabbling uselessly at the arm holding him, but his assailant's fingers only tightened.

"GeneCo!" Zaire shouted in a panic behind them, agitatedly dancing on her toes and shaking her hands at the wrists, like the situation had gotten away and she didn't know how to stop it. "GeneCo has her, they took her! We tried to get in, but–"

After what seemed ages, Wallace dropped Graverobber and he fell to his feet, coughing. He glared daggers at his attacker, massaging his neck emphatically.

Needless to say, he didn't think it had been a very successful first meeting with Shilo's father.

xxx

Luigi took a long sip of the coffee Asha handed him, and immediately spit it out in a shower over the rug. His tongue began to burn angrily, and he raised furious eyes at the Gentern. "Warn me when it's hot next time, goddamn it!" he shouted at her. She nodded, unfazed, and apologized.

"Should I fetch you some half-milk, sir?" she asked brightly.

"Just … get out of my sight. Take that little lying whore with you. I'm done with her."

"Sir?" asked Asha, and he saw her eyes glance over to the girl slumped on the wooden chair. After just an hour of questioning she looked almost dead. Fucking weak little…

She was mumbling something. He snapped his fingers at Asha, who hurried over to lift the brat's chin.

"…Don't send me back in there…" she whispered, eyes half closed. Luigi sneered, examining the electric welts that covered her arms and collar down his nose. Pathetic. "Please…"

"What, you expected a five-star hotel? Tell me where your father is and we might find you better accommodations."

"I told you again and again and again!" she sobbed, voice little more than a hysterical whisper. "He's dead! Rotti fucking shot him in cold blood, remember? What do you _want_ with me?"

"Look," he said slowly, fingering his knife above the desk where she could see. "Someone working for GeneCo was harboring a man we need, your father, and he sliced five of my GENforcers to shit! NOW TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

"I told you!" she said again, sounding frustrated and desperate. "It wasn't him! It couldn't have been. If he was alive I'd know. He'd have found me. You saw what he did to … protect me. He'd never let me exist in the world without his constant watch." The girl spit on the floor in front of his desk. "It wasn't him, okay? My father's dead!"

"Listen, you bitch, it _was_ him-"

"Did you see him do it? How do you know?"

"We had a tip-"

"A tip," she laughed raspily, mockingly, as her head dropped again. Luigi's fury was building up at her impertinence. "All this because of a tip! Look, he's dead, okay? I don't know where he is. In one of your mass graves, probably, wherever the hell you threw him …"

Something flitted across her features, some kind of shock and sadness at her own words, but the show of emotion only made Luigi even more livid. He threw his knife with a shout, and it landed with a thud in the wall behind her. She barely twitched. He hated it above anything when people ignored his threats and rage, like Amber and Pavi tended to do.

"Didn't you hear me? I said get her the fuck out of here!" he shouted at Asha as he stormed out, and she jumped to do as he said. God damned incompetent bitch.

xxx

Asha didn't know how much she could or should say to the little Wallace as she helped her limp into the cell, surveyed by Archie, and ordered a cot brought in. She also told the regular Gentern, Molly, to fetch a free surGEN to take care of the electric wounds that covered her. Shilo had to be okay to travel when Resa came to fetch her, and if Asha did this long-term stuff, it made her seem less of an accomplice.

Her hands still shook twenty minutes later, though, as the girl curled up on the thin mattress, welts taken care of and dressed. She couldn't help but whisper, "Someone's coming for you."

The shaggy dark head lifted slightly, but Asha had the door closed before she could make a fuss. She managed to smile lightly and normally to the GENforcer, Archie, who nodded back. "Oh, hey," she suddenly said casually, as if a thought had just occurred to her. "I'm about to go for coffee, d'you want to join me?"

"Ah…" the masked man looked around unsurely. Asha swallowed. "I should stay here, strict orders…"

"Oh, come on, Arch," Asha laughed, hoping it didn't sound too enthusiastic. "It's just coffee. She's a little teenager who's just been interrogated and zapped beyond all hell. What's she going to do, break down the door?"

Archie chuckled as well and lifted off his protective mask. "I suppose you're right. I should send down Choi early, in any case."

"I can do it," she volunteered, hoping he didn't see her trembling fingers. "I need to talk to Donovan anyway."

"Yeah, okay. I owe him twenty dollars, I'll stay outside," he grinned.

"Sure!"

Asha let out a whoosh of breath as she looped her arm through the man's uniformed arm. She was done her part. She only hoped Resa would make it through hers as easily.


	34. Chapter 34

The white cloth of the scanty uniform was itchy. It was so irritating and Resa was so anxious that she would have ripped it off had she not been wearing only her skin underneath. She still couldn't believe she'd gotten herself into this situation. GeneCo seemed a lot more frightening from the inside, when guards with guns were looking at her and GENforcers were around every corner and the Largos were just twenty floors above her. The Genterns kept giving her funny glances, and though she knew there were way too many of them for it to be strange that they didn't recognize her, she kept expecting sirens to blare any second.

She dropped her head and clutched tighter to the dinner tray Asha had shoved into her arms a few moments before when a piece of conversation drifted into earshot.

"It's okay; he's hiding out outside the city. He killed five GENforcers and a bunch of civilians, Teddy, maybe more, he's not hanging around anywhere GeneCo can reach him–"

"He's not outside the city. He's still here, Laura said she saw him the other day, and that surGEN with the bad hair. They were in Deho."

Self-consciously Resa pressed down her relatively flat hair even further, but the pair failed to even notice her.

"That's where-"

"I know, that's why I'm just saying, _be careful_. Why don't you stay with me a few days? I don't want him going on a rampage and slicing up your neighborhood … they're saying he's invincible … he'll kill anyone…"

For some reason the conversation angered Resa. GeneCo had obviously been painting Nate as some horror back from the grave just to kill whoever he wanted. Well … he hadn't exactly been a patron saint the last few months, or eighteen years as far as she assumed, but she knew it wasn't anything like what they were talking about.

And what about Resa? She hadn't even earned a name, or even 'partner-in-crime,' or at least 'accomplice'? She was just 'the one with the bad hair'? It felt like fifth grade all over again.

Why did it irritate her that her title wasn't worse? Resa supposed she hadn't exactly been social in her years at GeneCo, they weren't bound to remember her name. But as she looked back at the two, she recognized Dante-something from the PR department, and Mari Jenkins, another surGEN, both of whom she'd fairly often eaten lunch with. Was she really that unmemorable, that they didn't recognize her even when she was a fugitive?

Her knuckles turned white on the cold metal as her nervousness gave way to additional frustration and general pissed-offishness. She had to find Nathan's kid and get out of this goddamned building before she vomited, from the different emotions battering at her like many tiny rams.

She followed Asha's directions, and a few minutes later, found herself walking past the GENforcer hive. Her heart started beating rapidly as a few men in uniform, sans helmets, stood around the lounge and leaned on their huge guns and electric prods and sipped at coffee. "Asha…" Resa growled under her breath, realizing the younger woman probably never even considered this. She just hoped she could make it past–

"Hey, five-twelve, where you headed?" asked one of the men with a lazy smile over his mug. He wasn't quite large enough to be frightening, but the Kalashnikov XI propped against his leg made up for it. "I haven't seen you around before."

"'Five-twelve'?" asked Resa warily, wondering if he was talking about the time.

"Your number."

Resa squinted. "What?" she asked harshly. Was he hitting on her? Was he insane, or blind?

The man raised his eyebrows and gestured to the tag pinned to her chest. Quickly she looked down and found 'Gentern 512' printed in bold letters, with some other numbers below marking privileges and restrictions. Her stomach flipped and nervousness overcame her as she realized she probably appeared ridiculously stupid right now. Oh well. Maybe it was more convincing.

"Oh," she said apologetically, trying to steady her shaking hands. The plastic plate clicked against the metal in her hands. "S-Sorry, I'm new…"

"Don't worry about it," the man chuckled, not in quite a nice tone. She put up a careful wall again. "We don't bite, darling. Why don't you eat with us?"

"Oh – no, no, no, this isn't mine. It's for, uh…" her mind blanked. What did she call Shilo without ruining everything?

"…our esteemed guest?" filled in the GENforcer spitefully. Resa nodded, swallowing her heart back down. "Choi can take it down for you. He was supposed to switch guard with Archie at six, anyway, it'll save you a trip. Hey, Choi…!"

Resa panicked. "_No!_" she said quickly, too loud. The man looked at her funnily. "I mean, no, it's okay, the boss asked me to do it," she recovered, and continued in a stammer. "I needed to … talk to her and see … and get a surGEN in to look at her … excuse me…"

"All right, whatever. Just trying to be nice."

Resa managed to push past the man, and more importantly, the gun at his side. A breath of relief escaped her and she looked down at the plate that still shook. She hoped it was just an earthquake and she wasn't actually showing her nervousness that much. She used to be so _good_ at acting, before Nathan showed up and made her feel all these stupid feelings she'd learned to hide.

The stairs leading to the dungeon, no less sleek and metal than the rest of the modernized building, came into view. She looked back, and couldn't see Mr. Just-Trying-to-Be-Nice anymore, to her relief. The heavy brass key thumped against her side in the slightly frumpy dress' pocket.

As she turned to face ahead again, she bumped into someone, someone heart-sinkingly familiar.

"Oh, sorry," said Rory, the GENforcer she'd fried in her initial escape.

"No, p-pardon me," Resa said with a forced smile, trying to raise her low voice to an unrecognizable pitch.

She knew she hadn't succeeded when the man squinted at her, and then his eyes went large. "Resa?" he asked slowly, and when her face went to shock, he immediately hardened and raised his prod.

Resa did the only thing that came to mind. The food fell to the floor with a crash as she slammed the metal tray hard across the poor guy's face, hard enough to knock him off his feet. She found her limbs frozen and stood there, watching him crumple to the floor.

There was a sudden shout from behind her and she heard footsteps. She didn't have time to feel bad as her legs kicked into action and she grabbed Rory's prod from his limp glove, flying down the stairs. There was only one cell at the bottom, unfortunately close. The corridor seemed to stretch beyond, and she decided to try escape down it. Maybe it led to a sewage drain or something, like in movies.

Her hand shook with racked nerves. The key wouldn't fit in the door. Fuck. Shit. They were coming, and she had the wrong cell. It was the wrong cell, with the wrong prisoner; she'd kill Asha if she survived this. She stabbed the key in harder, but it wouldn't go in. Was it just her violently shaking hand? Had she taken a wrong turn? She thought GeneCo only had one cell – Resa's cell. Were there more somewhere? They'd said guest. The Largos had probably put her in a real room and she'd misunderstood Asha. She should have planned this out better, should've…

Above kicking herself, though, she had to get out of there.

Someone grabbed her arms behind her back and Resa shouted out with fright, kicking out behind her as the key fell from her fist. Her foot connected with unarmored flesh and the man let go of her. She took the opportunity to spin, flicking out the collapsed prod and pushing it into his soft side. Another officer came round, and then three more, and she kicked at them and punched as best she could, and there were bolts of electricity she shot at them, catching one man in the face and another in the chest. Her foot caught another in the groin, and … it was working, she would actually make it-

And then red spots and brilliant white lights exploded behind her eyes as something smashed into the side of her skull with a _crack_. She stumbled away with a stream of swear words, still waving the electric prod in front of her, unable to see through the water that sprang to her eyes. One of her hands scrabbled at the plastic red-filter mask, and tore it off. Her vision finally cleared of heat, though she strove for balance.

She tried to crack the rod over a bare head, but it weakly bounced off, and Resa decided to make a run for it. She staggered down the hallway, building on the momentum from falling. Then she tripped over something – her own feet – and hit the ground heavily. She felt her lip begin to swell almost at once, and thick, warm liquid trickled down her face, blinding her.

It was over. She knew it was over. But that didn't mean she wouldn't try to go out fighting.

She could only think of Nathan's face as the GENforcers crowded around her, and she swiped at her bloodied face.

"Let the fuck go of me!" Resa screamed, but she barely had any energy left to fight as they grabbed her arms and lifted.

"Fucking hellcat, isn't she?" said one of the guys, and she managed to spit in his face. He let go with a cry of disgust and she used her free arm to swing out. Her fist connected with a face, and even without the energy, the drive behind the hit caused a loud shout of pain, at least.

"Let – go!" she tried again, kicking out. A knee sank into her stomach from somewhere and she doubled over with another expletive. "That hurt!"

"So did your fist, you bitch," said the female in front of her, voice and consonants thick. She must have been the one Resa'd clocked. "You got pretty far, surGED. I'b impressed."

"Look," gasped Resa, desperately trying to find air again as the ground moved underneath them. "I'm not the enemy. It's GeneCo, I swear. Why do we let them control us?"

The woman laughed maliciously. "The bedefits are pretty good, for a start. They dod't try to beat us to shit, for adother. Hold her, for God's sake, Rory, I'b idcapacitated."

Resa was surprised she'd been able to string together words, even though the order or meaning didn't really make sense to her. Her mind felt scrambled. The blow must've been harder than she'd thought.

"What hit me?" she mumbled.

"The butt of my fuckid' gun. Dow shut up if you dod't wad it to hit you agaid."

"You can't … do this!" shouted Resa fragmentedly, head swimming and everything starting to go slower. She felt almost drunk. "This … can't be legal…!" She watched blurrily through one quickly swelling, puffy eye, mostly hearing, as the woman blew the thick blood from her nose into a tissue. When she spoke again, Resa decided she'd liked the comically stuffed-up voice better.

"You've caused this company a lot of trouble, haven't you, sweetheart?" she said darkly, voice thin and strong and controlled like a spider's web, but wrought with terrifying fury. "And your boyfriend's murdered a lot of people among my friends. CEO Amber Sweet's put out an order for your execution, did you know that?"

Resa's blood ran cold.

She did the first thing she thought of, and mumbled something incomprehensible. She let her body go completely limp and her eyes close as if she'd passed out. She just had to be careful to stay awake through the dark, numbing relief that clouded her mind.

"Rory! Is she still alive?" the woman, tone fuzzy in the haze, asked in a panicked tone. "Luigi wanted to question her!"

"She's not breathing. How hard did you hit her, Charlie?"

"Not as hard as she deserved!"

Resa relaxed every muscle in her body, hoping to catch them off-guard. Maybe she could take off if…

"Set her down for a second. Look for a pulse. Try CPR or something. I'm not losing my goddamned job because she's some weak little…"

The grip on her arms relaxed. Before they could lay Resa on the ground, though, she tensed and pushed off with a huge effort. Her actions were slowed, but she still caught her attackers unawares and was just barely able to lurch out of their hands and towards the tunnel again.

"Jesus Christ!" one of the men shouted.

She didn't get far before a cold metal fork pressed into her back, and a painful shock discharged into her system. Resa cried out and fell to all fours, numb and skin tingling, almost completely out of it. She barely registered the solid boot she took to the ribs from the woman who'd caught up to her, Charlie. The men lifted her back to her feet, and the hard butt of Charlie's gun crashed into her nose again. She felt the blood trickle down her lips, but felt almost nothing else. Maybe she was dying. It almost came as a relief.

"You must really think we're stupid," the cold female voice drifted in and out, slightly out-of-breath but still surprisingly meticulous. Resa tried to mumble a response, but it was too hard. Every movement felt like she was trying to swim through molasses.

"Not … stupid … Charlie …" she finally managed with a bloody smile, the hate for the woman in front of her seething stronger than the fear. "Just … incompetent…"

Another knee smashing into her solar plexus. Another breathless obscenity from her lips. It was all starting to whirl together in her muddled mind.

As they dragged her through the cold, bright corridor, she realized she'd failed Shilo. Failed Nathan. And now she knew everything hurt even if she was still in shock and couldn't feel it, and she'd be killed on top of everything. For some reason, she couldn't imagine why, her mind thought it would be a good idea to quote her favorite book at that moment. 'I don't want to die now! I've still got a headache! I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'd be all cross and wouldn't enjoy it!' rang Arthur Dent's frantic cries through her head. Mostly all that came out in the gasps was, "Don't … die … headache … all cross and wouldn't enjoy it…"

"Shut the hell up!" shouted Charlie again, supplying her with another painful crack to the head.

"She's completely out of it, Char. If you stop hitting her, she'll stop mumbling," Resa heard Rory say, concentrating on the voices so the blackness couldn't envelope her like the warm hug it appeared to be in her mind. She didn't want to die.

"Or if I keep hitting her, she'll stop mumbling faster."

"Or if you keep hitting her, you'll kill her, and Luigi will kill _us_."

"She's strong enough. Did you see her take off back there after all that? She's like a dinosaur."

Resa knew she was completely out of it. She didn't know what she was saying, only that she kept talking, and she certainly didn't know what they were saying. She heard the words, but it seemed like a foreign language. Maybe it was. Maybe it was less scary to die delusional than in your right mind.

And here was death again, finally staring her in the face right when she didn't want it. She just hoped Nathan was still too furious with her, that he wouldn't be upset when he found out. She really hoped he'd be okay, and maybe he'd find Shilo and go back to his old life, none too worse for wear. Resa hoped he didn't love her, that he even hated her, so her death wouldn't hurt. He didn't deserve any more of that.

"Stop carrying me," she mumbled again, gaining back a bit of her strength from Nathan's face in her mind, though a grasp on what she was saying still eluded her. "I don't want to go with her. Just leave me here. Make her go away."

When she found the hands still on her arms and Charlie still beside her, she felt inescapable annoyance. She succeeded in kicking out once more with the result of a satisfying feminine yelp, before another electric shock sent her spiraling into the deep red non-existence she'd been trying to avoid.

x

Nathan shot over to the counter and grabbed his most trusty scalpel. The weight was comforting in his hand and he felt a bolt of adrenaline go through him. "We go, then. We go to GeneCo and get her out." He had hardly taken two strides to the door before a voice stopped him.

"Wait!" Graverobber groaned, "We already tried that."

Zaire nodded. "Yeah, and it didn't go so well. The guards are everywhere. You can't just march in unless you want to get killed. Aren't you the rogue Repo Man that everyone was talking about? The GENforcers would recognize you on the spot."

"If we're going to break in, we need a plan," Graverobber cut in from where he was rifling through a nearby freezer. He pulled out a bag of ice and held it to his nose. The blood had stopped, but Zaire could still see how rough he looked, bruised and battered. She guessed he hadn't slept in days. Add to that he was almost sliced-and-diced by his soon-to-be-father in law, and she could tell he wasn't having a good day.

"But we need to do something!" Nathan clutched his head in frustration.

Zaire sighed. "But-"

"Shut the fuck _up_!" he roared, making her jump out of her skin. The man crinkled his brow and looked up at her. "Sorry. I didn't mean you."

Zaire and Graverobber glanced at one another.

"Maybe..." She hesitated, not too eager to insult the 6-and-a-half foot Repo Man in front of them. "Maybe we should just... you know. Handle this ourselves. You look like you need to sort some stuff out."

Nathan shook his head. "No. No way. This is my daughter you're talking about. My Shilo. And even if I can't remember everything about her, I still know I love her, and it's my responsibility to get her out."

How that would even be possible, Nathan didn't know. The Repo thing was as strong as he was now, and he had no idea how he managed to regain control and stop it from killing the girl. He didn't know if he'd be able to hold it back when they tried to sneak into GeneCo. He didn't know if he could hold it back in the next five minutes.

He needed Resa. When he was with her, the Repo Thing seemed to melt away. He needed her here now. She would know what to do.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling suddenly alone without her easy laugh and cheese metaphors and hugs.

"So?"

"Wha-" Nathan looked up, suddenly aware of the two strangers staring expectantly at him.

"We need a plan. We're not just going to rush in there and get killed. Agreed?" The dreadlocked one narrowed his eyes. Nathan instinctively trusted him, although he wasn't sure why.

"Yeah, sure." Nathan set the scalpel down regretfully. "We plan. _And then we kill those sons of bitches_." Repo spat.

"Agreed," growled Graverobber, putting a hand to his head where his hair was still matted and dried with blood. His skull was beginning to pound as the alcohol subsided, and the constantly being knocked out lately didn't help. "Zaire, did you get the prints? How did it go?"

"How did it go?" chuckled Zaire, voice still too high and skin still too grey, but the mention did seem to brighten her mood substantially. "They wanted me back. It was all a big misunderstanding. I feel like an idiot."

"Hey, way to go, kid," winced Graverobber as a particularly bad wave of pain washed over him. "But I've still got shit to deal with."

"We," corrected Shilo's father. Graverobber's eyes darted over to him irritably. He still didn't completely trust that the guy wouldn't fuck him over as soon as his back was turned.

"Okay, we, then," he said grudgingly. "So how do we get in?"

"I don't know," murmured Zaire, and pulled out some blue papers that looked older than her. "I haven't checked them yet."

"Perfect. God, Zaire, you're a lifesaver." Graverobber took the papers from her and spread them over the table. The metal was still warm against his fingers and a fresh surge of hate hit him.

"Don't … don't thank me yet," she said slowly, and both men looked at her. "I'm not coming with you."

"_What?_" burst Graverobber. "Zaire, you can't-"

"Too right," said Nathan Wallace instantly, at the same time. "It's nothing for a kid to get involved in-"

"I'm fifteen, you prick!" Zaire said heatedly. "I'm not a kid! But I can't come with you. I actually have a family again. And I can't jeopardize that."

"Families suck," muttered Graverobber.

"I was thinking," she continued, ignoring him. "That once you got in, you could do me a favor and … destroy my brother's files? Only, then he could come home, and…"

Graverobber was ignoring her right back. He bent over the blueprints, following white lines with his finger.

"Of course," Nathan told her. "It's the least I can do. After, you know…"

"Almost murdering us both like a complete fucking psychopath?" finished Graverobber. "Also, can I have my shirt back, by the way?"

"Sorry, it's kind of…" he trailed off, reaching to pick up the shredded piece of yellowing material. "But I've got an extra shirt down here you have. Here."

Graverobber picked up the white tee shirt he was tossed and slipped it on. He suddenly felt a lot less uncomfortable.

"So what now?" he asked Zaire, hoping she'd changed her mind but knowing she hadn't.

"I'm going home," she said breathlessly, cheeks pink like he'd never seen them. He realized she'd washed her face, too. "And GeneCo's kind of busy with this whole thing … I'm going to get Bo and bring him with me. He should be okay until you get rid of the file."

Graverobber looked at her for a long time. Finally he said, "You'll do okay, kiddo."

She nodded and smiled. "Thanks for everything, Graves. I won't forget you."

"God, just don't with the touchy-feely crap, okay?" he said exasperatedly. She still glowed.

"Bye," Zaire smiled weakly. She pulled something from her pocket and put it on the table beside him with a few clinks. It was the pile of worn coins he'd given her. When he looked up, she was gone. He tried hard not to think about abandonment issues as he pushed the money back into his bag and lowered himself over the plans of GeneCo.

The repo man behind him cleared his throat. "What can I do?"

"You can shut up and not kill anybody, all right?" Graverobber muttered, pulling a different sheet to the top.

"Listen, you asshole," growled Nathan. "I'm trying to do extremely well with the fact that you've been living with my seventeen-year-old daughter for the last few months, all right?"

"Nothing happened," Graverobber shot automatically. "And she's eighteen now, father-of-the-year."

There was silence.

"She's eighteen?" asked the man pathetically after a while.

"Yeah. Her birthday was last month." He flipped another page. "It was the most depressing party I've ever been to. I tried to make her a cake, but the stupid thing burnt to a crisp and I ended up just bringing out a bottle of tequila and some Oreos. We watched My Fair Lady six times and she spent the whole night crying. And it wasn't over the cake."

"I used to watch that with her," said Nathan, and then seemed surprised at himself. "…What's she like?"

"Who?"

"Shilo. What's my daughter like?"

Graverobber stared at him. "Is that a trick question?"

There was another long, awkward silence. Graverobber cleared his throat.

"Look, let's move out of your murderhouse. I think the living room was clear enough to sit down."

"Those bastards have my daughter and you want to sit in the living room over a cup of tea?" asked Nathan cynically.

"I'm not going anywhere without sitting down for a minute, okay?" The room was beginning to sway as Graves spoke. "I've just been kicked, beaten, tortured, almost sliced to pieces, bashed, punched and had my nose broken, and then smashed into again. No matter how much I want to rescue Shilo, I've got to say, I'm not going to be much help to anyone right now."

"I can set your nose," the huge man said apologetically.

"That would be very helpful." Graverobber nodded patronizingly as he rolled the plans up again, clenching his teeth and grabbing his broken rib. "But for now I need somewhere to collapse and a very strong drink, and I recall seeing a 2021 Scotch in your cupboard. So lead the way, Tonto."

Nathan glared at him as they set up the stairs.

xxx

Something blindingly white was pressing against her eyelids. The wood on her back on uncomfortable. Had she rolled out of the sleeping bag while she was asleep and ended up on the floor? Where was Nate?

"Nathan," Resa mumbled, voice thick and gravelly and sore with sleep. "…Can you put something on the windows, it's too…"

Suddenly she realized she couldn't move her arms. She tried to bring a hand to her face, but cold metal dug sharply into her wrists. Rapidly an air of panic filled her and she struggled up, even though she found she was sitting already. Her head throbbed excruciatingly, inconsistently, as if something was ricocheting off the walls of her skull. Her eyes tried to open, but the light was like knives and she squinted against it.

"I wouldn't throw that name around too much here, bitch," someone said, voice thin and male and almost … happy. "It doesn't ring too many good bells."

"Where is he?" she croaked, more pain exploding in her head. She winced, folding over double against the bindings with the pain.

"Well, see, that's what we're trying to find out. Pavi, cut the goddamn light, she looks like it's giving her an attack."

The white was gone, replaced by soft yellow tones. Resa managed to peel her eyes open. "It was a really, _really_ stupid mistake coming back here, surGEN."

"You motherfuckers," she growled as she realized where she was, what had happened, who was talking. "Let me go, you have no right-"

"Donnell," said the other man, voice higher and softer and more melodious than his brother's. "We like you.

"_We,_" scoffed Luigi. "_He_ likes you. _I_ hate to be lied to."

Pavi ignored him. "We'll help you, but you need to help him."

"Listen to him. Listen to Princess Paviche. We'll [i]help you[/i]," laughed Luigi Largo, viciously mocking. "Amber's ordered your execution, you lying, traitorous cunt, did you know that?" he said, voice sharp in his rage, spittle flying from his sneering mouth.

"Funnily enough, I did," snarled Resa in return, barely able to ignore the stiff pain the tried to rob her of all sense. "Word seems to travel fast in the workplace, huh?"

"_Where is he?_" roared Luigi, standing behind his desk. She recognized the same office she'd been questioned in a few days prior.

"Fuck if I know!" replied Resa, voice breaking as fury rushing through her. Damn it, why had she had to get caught? But at least she could face this terrifying man fearlessly now, knowing she was going to die anyway. "Like I'd tell you if I did, anyway!"

Something sharp sliced across her face and she gasped at the pain it caused. She felt the blood trickle its way down her cheek.

"Stop it, Luigi," commended Pavi, thought he didn't sound like he cared all too much. She supposed the ugly surGEN he visited sometimes didn't warrant too much sympathy. "You're questioning her, remember. She won't talk if she can't."

"Yeah," spit Resa, a coppery taste still in her mouth. "Listen to your little brother."

The fierce offense that overtook the oldest Largo's face surprised her. "Shut the fuck up!"

"Make me, you pig!"

Another quick cut, roughly in the same place as the first, though deeper, made her cry out.

"Try me," he told her, voice dangerously quiet. Fear suddenly coursed through Resa as she realized there were worse things than death on the menu. Sullenly she shut up.

"What I want to know," he asked, relatively calm once more now that she was listening. "Is how you survived with a monster like Wallace for so long. Someone like you could just make a person … snap."

"You're the monster," said Resa angrily. "Your family poisoned his mind, drove him insane."

But the guilt was beginning to seep in. She _had_ made Nathan snap. Before she could stop it, images of the last time she'd seen him began to flash through her. His face when he found out. Darkly murderous, and furious at _her_. It _was_ all her fault, all of this. If she'd told him sooner, they could have taken Shilo before GeneCo. If she'd even thought for a second…

She looked back up suddenly to find Luigi, with a gleefully psychopathic look on his long face.

"But it seems he is-a the monster after all," Pavi said softly. "The bruise under her eye, Luigi. It's older than the others."

Resa's face burned.

"You're goddamned right, he's the monster," she said quietly, the contusion Nathan had given her rapidly swelling and hurting more than the fresh ones, though she knew that was psychological. She was aware that by saying what she wanted to, she was fueling the rumors surrounding the rogue Repo, but she wanted nothing more than to see fear crawl over Luigi's malicious face. "He doesn't care who he hurts. Who he kills. You must be the stupidest man on the planet, Luigi Largo, because you took his daughter from him. You took away the one thing he cares about in this world, and he would give anything to get her back. The bond between father and daughter is a powerful one, and it's not to be trifled with. You're playing with fire, and you will get burned. He'll take this building, he'll kill every single man and woman in it if it means he gets Shilo Wallace back."

"Take her to be executed," ordered Luigi to his brother, but she saw the fear begin to take root under his stony expression.

"You really don't know what you've started, do you?" she laughed, and the frighteningly happy sound echoing around the dark room almost scared her, even though she knew she was pulling this whole speech out of her ass. "You don't know the kind of fucking trouble you've gotten yourself into. You may not remember the way he terrified the people of this city in his reign, but he certainly does. He's the best. He's the worst. You killed him once, remember? But he came back. Not only did he come back for his daughter, he has an idea for this company, and an idea can't be killed. It can't be stabbed, or shot, or thrown away. An idea melts into the shadows, biding its time, and when it's right, it will rein absolute chaos. You're scared now. I see it. Wait until it's in this room with a scalpel at your throat, making you beg like a fucking dog just for your pathetic life–"

The back of his gloved hand slapped across her cheek, making a sound like a whip crack through her soft speech. Her cheek grew numb and pulsated from the heavy force behind the blow, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from giving him any sort of fulfillment from her reaction.

"Get her…" breathed Luigi, deathly quiet, "…out of here."

"Kill me if you want," Resa continued, looking up at them from her good eye, under her dark brow. "He really does hate me right now, but it might just piss him off further. You wanted me to try you?" She chuckled; she felt morbid satisfaction at the dread she'd planted in the oldest Largo. "Try him."


End file.
